


they say we are asleep until we fall in love

by potato_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, Great Comet AU, Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Hyle Hunt/Brienne of Tarth, Period-Typical Sexism, Regency-ish, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, and by men I mean hyle, i guess, in which I give Hyle more credit than he deserves, it all works out though don't worry, it's 19th century Russia idk, jaime has no idea why he's doing anything but he's still gonna do it bc he's jaime, men being assholes, mild gun violence, technically a war and peace au but not really?, these idiots don't know how to stick to the outline do they, very slow burn if you expect anything to resolve quickly you will be disappointed, you don't need to know anything about great comet for this don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 62,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potato_writes/pseuds/potato_writes
Summary: there's a war going on out there somewhere...In a far-off kingdom, one once filled with magic and monsters and everything in between, a war rages.or, an AU based on Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 featuring Jaime as Pierre, Brienne as Natasha, operas, duels, dances, attempted abductions, and the beginning of a love story between two people who have no idea what lies ahead for them.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 69
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue/Pierre

**Author's Note:**

> if you're not familiar with Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 (Great Comet for short), it's a musical by Dave Malloy based on an approximately 80-page section of the novel War And Peace, one the composer described as an 'electropop opera' which should give you a pretty good idea of how weird it is. seriously, there's a rave at one point.
> 
> while this fic is primarily transporting the characters of asoiaf/got into the world of great comet, I must also note that I will be tackling a few of my issues w the musical itself (namely the use of the g-slur several times in act II as well as the portrayal of Hélène). this will also not be a direct adaption of the musical's plot as several act II plot points required too much suspension of disbelief for me to be able to justify writing them (which is why this fic ended up in purgatory for several months while I tried to work those issues out). please note that this is not a Hyle friendly fic, even if it does give him far more credit for intelligence than he deserves (tbh I'm doing Anatole dirty by having Hyle portray him but he's literally the only person I could make work in that role besides Jaime and Renly and they both fit other roles better). also the reason Balaga is being played by an original character is bc I couldn't think of a single character (besides Bronn) who would fit the role, and while Bronn's a great character to stick wherever in fic he has zero interaction w either Hyle or Loras in any medium so it wouldn't work for him to be there. 
> 
> while I'm at it, this fic's portrayal of Cersei is likely going to be different than any other portrayal of her I write, and that's mainly bc putting her in Hélène's role allows me to explore my complex feelings about both Cersei and Great Comet's portrayal of Hélène. I can't guarantee I'll come to any sort of conclusions when writing this, but do note that this portrayal of Cersei may not necessarily be one you'll agree with (this particular fic is probably going to be fairly neutral on her, in case you're curious).
> 
> anyways, I should stop rambling now. if you have more questions about this fic, ask me in the comments or on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat). I can't guarantee this will be posted in a timely or consistent manner now that I'm off break, but I'll do my best.
> 
> if you want to listen along, you should (I'll warn ahead of time for any songs that might be...sensitive). prologue is a jam (actually so's Pierre)
> 
> enjoy!!

_There’s a war going on out there somewhere…_

In a far-off kingdom, one once filled with magic and monsters and everything in between, a war rages. 

Cannons roar like thunder and bullets whip back and forth past the ears of soldiers on both sides as they wallow through mud and blood and bodies piled high, trying to gain enough ground to keep the invaders out or to win more land from the defending armies. With every passing day, the front creeps closer and closer to the kingdom’s capital as the sheer numbers of the invaders win out over the exhausted defending army. With every passing day, the defending soldiers grow more and more desperate, determined to protect their homeland despite the overwhelming odds against them.

The invaders charge on with the same fervour as ever, intent on winning this war so their leader can claim yet another territory for her ever-growing empire. As the temperature plummets and winter sets in, their doubt begins to stir deep down, but they push forwards all the same, terrified of what will befall them if they turn back now. Their leader can be ruthless when angered, and the ever-colder wind is even more unforgiving to those caught alone within its grasp.

_And Andrey isn’t here…_

Among the defending army is a noble man, handsome and powerful. A prince among his own people, he fights fiercely to defend his kingdom in order to protect those back at home: his brothers, one too injured to fight any further and the other forced to tend to him, his friends, and another man more dear to him than all the rest. He has a fiancée as well, though she doesn’t cross his mind as much as she likely should.

The men under his command know him as Renly Baratheon, the youngest brother of an old and wealthy noble family. He has lingered near the front for too long, he knows, but there are several truths he will have to confront upon his return that he would prefer not to think of. And so he remains near the heart of the conflict, far away from his home and the turmoil of a less violent kind that is about to shake the foundations of the world he left behind when he marched to war, days or months or years ago.

_Natasha is young…_

On a ship sailing across the water from a small island to the kingdom’s capital, a young woman stands on the deck with her hands gripping the rail and the wind stirring her hair. She stares out at the sea as she journeys from her island home, familiar and comforting, to the swiftly approaching capital, new and strange. Her family is wealthy, though not so wealthy as to be remarkable, and just powerful enough to earn her a betrothal to the prince now fighting on the front lines of the war.

She loves her prince dearly, or so she thinks as she steps back from the rail and retreats below to join her travelling companion in their shared cabin. But what she thinks does not truly matter, for she is a countess cursed with ugliness in a world unkind to any woman who is not both rich and beautiful. Her name is Brienne Tarth, and she is about to step into a world where all her skills will be tested and the love she is so certain of now will become warped and changed until she can no longer recognize it for what it once was.

_Sonya is good…_

In a cabin below the ship’s deck, the countess’s travelling companion wraps a shawl around herself and reads to pass the time until her friend returns from her explorations on the deck. At the same time, back in the capital, another young woman dashes through the streets to make it back home in time for supper, her braided hair whipping out behind her as she runs. They are both princesses, sisters of a family that is old and powerful but not nearly so wealthy as it once was, and they are both on their way home after some time spent away.

The travelling companion is known as Sansa Stark, and she has been visiting the countess in order to secure a betrothal to her brother. The sister darting through the streets is known as Arya Stark, and she has been at the club all day, sparring with the noble men and beating them all soundly in a remarkable display of skill. They are both dear friends to the countess, and will be called upon to protect their friend when the world shifts and men with ill intentions come calling in the dead of night.

_Marya is old-school…_

Back in the capital, the mother of the two princesses sits in her solar and waits for her daughters to return. She is still a striking beauty despite her age beginning to weigh down on her, though the last few years have been difficult considering what she has lost and the debts she now must pay on her husband’s behalf. Although she is a princess in her own right, she rarely thinks of herself as such now that her family has fallen on hard times.

The mother who will be playing host to the countess, the travelling companion, and the street runner calls herself Catelyn Stark, and her home will be the centre of the events about to play out despite her best attempts to make things otherwise. Her duty will be to call upon an old friend and to defend her home from the aforementioned men with ill intentions, much like her daughters will defend their friend from the same.

_Anatole is hot…_

Riding in a carriage approaching the capital is a man, considered to be rather plain and dull by all who have the misfortune of meeting him. He is styled as a baron, though he has no wealth or power to speak of. Though he comes to the capital seeking to gain both those things, the quest is a difficult one as he lacks powerful friends to recommend him, an interesting personality to win people over, and memorable looks to capture the attention of those around him and make him remarkable.

The unremarkable baron goes by the name of Hyle Hunt, and he is not much more clever than he is interesting. But he is arriving in the city with a plan, one which he formed after consulting a friend who is, in fact, much cleverer than he is, and it is his plan which makes him one of the men with ill intentions about to cause considerable trouble to the mother and her daughters and distress to the countess now journeying towards the capital much like he is.

_Hélène is a slut…_

In the heart of the capital, in the home inhabited by the fighting prince’s brothers, the wife of the eldest brother paces the hall with quick, furious steps. She is a friend to the unremarkable baron now approaching the capital, though she does not like him very much. Nor does she like her husband, who returned from the front badly injured and has never treated her with any sort of kindness. Her husband’s brothers are no more beloved, for they like to whisper scandalous things about her behind her back despite very few of those things being true.

The slighted wife stalking up and down the hall is named Cersei Baratheon, though there was a time she was named Lannister instead. She is connected by friendship, marriage, or blood to nearly all of the other players in this game of scandal and turmoil about to rock the capital, and she will persuade the countess to make a reckless decision that will nearly cost the younger woman everything she has worked for.

_Dolokhov is fierce…_

Accompanying the unremarkable baron in his carriage is a second man, one far more fortunate than his companion. He is ranked as a count, but has both wealth and power backing him as well as good looks and a remarkable ability to shoot and fight. The women of court love him dearly, though his own heart lies with the fighting prince, far away on the front lines. He is recently returned from the same place, taking a brief leave to see his sister married before he rejoins his heart and the steadily approaching war.

He is friendly with both the unremarkable baron and the slighted wife, though he would not consider either of them to be friends. The only friends he requires are his guns, he tells himself, along with his incredible aim. This sharpshooter’s name is Loras Tyrell, and he is about to play a regrettable role in the countess’s humiliation due to his jealousy and bravado and reluctance to refuse the unremarkable count’s request. He, more than most in this tale, has a lesson to learn, though it will not be an easy one for him to accept.

_Mary is plain…_

Sharing the house with the slighted wife is the middle brother of the fighting prince, a sour and bitter man duty-bound to care for his elder brother with the other two off tending to other affairs. He is not a cruel man by nature, but his bitterness has begun to affect him and make him less polite than he might be were he not burdened so. Like his brother, he is titled as a prince, though he has no betrothed and likely never will if he allows his bitterness to continue eating at him. 

This bitter prince is called Stannis Baratheon, and he has but a minor role to play in the tale about to unfold. His role does not lack importance, however, as his bitterness and stiff manner will serve to alienate the countess who his brother is to marry. And despite his multiple attempts to rectify his mistakes, nothing he can do will be enough to bridge the gap and prevent the countess from fleeing his home forever.

_Bolkonsky is crazy…_

Also in the house with the slighted wife and the bitter prince is the eldest of the brothers, a once-great man now brought low by a debilitating injury earned in the war. He is beloved of no one, for he is distant and brusque with his brothers and harsh and crude at best with his wife. The servants have no love for him either due to his tendency to wander about half-dressed and spewing lewd words, and all the maids have long since learned to avoid his groping hands.

The third brother is known as Robert Baratheon, a wealthy and powerful prince who despite his status in court has a role less significant than either of his brothers. His task is to disturb the countess still further and ensure she will be unable to abide living with her betrothed in the same house as him. Beyond that, he is of no importance to our tale.

_Balaga is just for fun…_

The carriage carrying the unremarkable baron and the sharpshooter to the capital is driven by another man, the only commoner among the noble players in this tale. He is both driver and friend to the unremarkable baron, a reckless man who tends to drive his horses near to death rather than travel any slower than he must. He can also be an entertainer if the circumstances call for it, and they often call for it when he becomes too reckless for those around him to abide.

The driver calls himself Duram Waters, and his only purpose in the game is to act as the driver and the entertainer while the unremarkable baron prepares his plot. Though he likes to think he will rise above his lowly origins, this game has no room for him to take the stage as of yet and so his role will be least among the many players on the board.

_What about Pierre?_

There is a final player yet to be introduced, one too complex to be summed up in a few words like all the rest—though, if one were to dig deeper, they would find that this is not strictly true. He too is a prince, with wealth and power equal to that of the third brother and good looks equal to those of the fighting prince and the sharpshooter both. He was a fighter once before a cannon stripped him of his right hand, and there was a time when his abilities outstripped even those of the sharpshooter and the street runner on the field of combat. He is an old friend of the mother and fought alongside all three brothers and the sharpshooter before injuries forced three of five to return to the capital. He shares the kind heart of the travelling companion, though he hides his beneath snide words and a sharp tongue, and he is brother to the slighted wife as well as acquaintance to the unremarkable lord. To the countess, he is but a family friend unknown to her as of yet, but together they will become the most important players on the game board, steadily moving closer and closer until they finally meet.

He is known as Jaime Lannister, and it is with him that our story begins at last.

***

A cool wind whips across the water, stirring the sails on the boats moored in the harbour and rustling the flags all along the city walls. In the distance, thunder booms, and the man hurrying through the winding city streets glances up sharply at the sound. Storm clouds gather on the horizon, slowly marching across the bay to reach the city and send rain bucketing down on the few fools who remain in the streets.

Winter has nearly arrived in King’s Landing, and this storm will be one of the last before the temperature drops and turns rain to ice and sleet.

The man ducks his head against another gust of wind, pulling his coat tighter about himself with one hand. The other arm comes up to his chest, pinning the lapels together in lieu of buttoning them. A sensible choice when the right arm lacks a hand. He pushes a strand of long golden-blond hair from his face with his left hand, frowning at the sky as he turns a last corner and arrives at the gates of a manor, one of many located near the city centre and the royal seat at the Red Keep. This one, gates decorated with the roaring lion of his family’s sigil, happens to be his home while he stays in the capital.

Lightning flashes in the distance, reflected in his piercing green eyes for a moment before it fades away. He slips through the gates and hurries up to the grand double doors as thunder rumbles again, muffling the creak as someone inside the manor pulls the doors open so he can enter.

A young servant meets him in the entrance hall, stepping forward and taking his coat as he shrugs it free of his shoulders. “Your sister has sent another message, Prince Jaime,” the servant says as he steps back from his master, the coat clutched in his hands. “She wants to know if you will host her for a while here.”

“Can she not stay with her husband’s family?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he turns away from the servant. “After all, they are in the capital as well.”

The servant shakes his head in response. “She claims to have fought with her husband again, and says he will not allow her into their manor at present.”

He sighs and turns to face the servant again. “Very well. Send a reply telling her she may stay here, but only until she and her husband have repaired their latest rift. I do not wish to host her forever.” 

In truth, he doesn’t want to host her at all. But despite their relationship having crumbled in the past year, ever since he returned from the front short a right hand, he still struggles to refuse her, particularly when it comes to providing an escape from her loathsome husband and his bitter brother.

“I will do so, then.” The servant vanishes down the hall as Prince Jaime Lannister ascends the stairs, heading for his solar in search of some peace in the midst of a storm. And maybe a drink. It has been a long day, after all.

Everything was so much easier before, when he was on the front lines of the war and knew what his purpose was, could predict what the next day would bring. But now, discharged and useless without his hand, he wanders aimlessly from day to day, struggling to live up to his father’s expectations of what one of Westeros’s most powerful nobles should be. Most of the time, he feels as useless as the scarred stump where his hand once was, unable to do much more than serve as a weight to hold others down.

He will admit, though, that disappointing his father is not nearly so terrible now that the man is dead and unable to survey his every action with a beady, disdainful eye. And he does take pleasure from using some of his vast inheritance to help the poor, both back near the estate of Casterly Rock and here in King’s Landing on his increasingly rare visits to the capital. Most days, the only joy he feels is from knowing Tywin Lannister would be utterly horrified to see his heir stooping so low as to spend coin on the poor he spent so long degrading while alive.

It’s not enough, however, to erase Jaime’s disappointment with himself. When he was young, he thought he’d be a great soldier, defending Westeros from invasion and strife with expert ability. Now he has seen war for himself, and knows there is little glory to be found in either conflict or the tales of old that he once loved so much. As he takes a seat in his solar, he cannot recall why as a boy he longed to be just like the knights so many stories described. He has seen all too clearly that heroes like that do not exist, not in war when everyone is desperate to survive.

“And to think I once thought myself a hero in the making,” he mutters, pulling a glass from a cabinet and filling it to the brim with Dornish Red. “What a fool I was, to think I could do something great with my life.”

Beyond the walls of his manor, thunder sounds again, ringing in the distance like the cannons he can still hear in his ears. Jaime stands and walks to the window, staring out at the distant harbour as lightning flashes over Blackwater Bay, for a moment illuminating the capital in bright white light.

He wonders absently if this storm also rages at the front, which creeps closer to King’s Landing every day. If so, he pities the soldiers forced to do battle in such miserable weather. The gods know how difficult it is to fight with rain pounding down around you and mud around your knees, water splashing into your eyes until it becomes impossible to distinguish friend from foe. 

What he wouldn’t give to be back there now.

Years ago, he’d taken on the task of guarding the emperor in hopes that would bring him glory. When that ended in bitter failure and a terrible secret, he enlisted against his father’s wishes, all the while foolishly believing that going to war would allow him to achieve the greatness he dreamed of as a boy. And now he’s back in the capital, his dreams withered and gone along with his right hand.

At least he had a purpose on the front. Here, he’s hindered by a missing hand and a foolish desire to be more than just another slothful noble lazing about the capital, doing nothing of use for the remainder of his life. If he cannot be remembered as a hero, he would at least like to go down in history for having achieved _something._ Anything. 

Yet it seems he’s doomed to fade into the background like all the rest, like his sister’s husband and the other nobles who hide from the conflict in their manors and estates. Ned Stark may have died defending his ancestral home in vain, but at least his death was memorable. At least his death had meaning.

Nothing Jaime’s done in the past year has had meaning. He would give anything to be able to find meaning in his life once again.

_I never thought that I’d end up like this  
I used to be better…_


	2. Moscow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _welcome, welcome to Moscow..._
> 
> Observing the joy of the three women around her, Brienne feels an abrupt longing for her brother and father, one off at war and the other back on Tarth. She is eager to explore the capital and reunite with the handsome prince of her dreams, but all this would be far more enjoyable if she could have her family at her side.
> 
> featuring arriving visitors, tea, gossip, and an imminent meeting with Stannis Baratheon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so I have no guarantee I'll consistently be posting this quickly since I have no time at all right now, but this chapter was already written so enjoy. I forgot to mention this last time, but all titles are based off of Russian noble titles (coming from the source material rather than asoiaf). also, while Brienne is engaged to Renly at this point in time, that relationship is decidedly not the endgame for this fic and if you know anything about Great Comet you know there's a reason why he's 'not here'. I have nothing more to say here, so let's get on with this chapter.

_Welcome, welcome to Moscow  
Where faded and fading princesses live…_

Countess Brienne Tarth steps carefully out of the carriage that carried her from the docks to her hostess’s house, pulling the hood of her coat up around her ears to keep the rain from soaking her entirely. Her companion, Princess Sansa Stark, also exits the carriage and comes to stand beside her as they make their way up the front lawn to the manor’s entrance.

“Mother’s going to be delighted to host us together,” Sansa says eagerly as the carriage driver pulls the doors open before vanishing back to the street. “And with Arya returned from her visit to Storm’s End, we’re going to have a marvellous time! I’ve been longing to show you around King’s Landing for ages.”

Brienne smiles shyly at Sansa’s words. “It will be nice to see Arya and Catelyn again. It’s been far too long since my betrothal announcement.”

A young man dressed in servant’s livery comes rushing around the corner, skidding to a stop before the two women. “My apologies, Princess Sansa, Countess Brienne,” he says, gasping slightly from his dash into the room. “I meant to meet you here, but…”

“It’s not a problem, Pod,” Sansa tells him kindly, patting him on the shoulder. “Our carriage driver took a shortcut here on account of the storm. We don’t expect you to greet us at the door when we arrive earlier than we planned to.”

Pod bows his head, still looking sheepish. He’s saved from replying when a young woman clad in loose breeches and a tunic comes flying around the same corner he just came around, racing to seize first Sansa and then Brienne in tight hugs.

“You’re here!” Princess Arya Stark, Sansa’s younger sister, cries, bouncing on her toes as she steps back from Brienne. “I’m so glad to see you both. Especially you, Brienne. I’ve missed having you as my sparring partner when fencing.”

Brienne laughs at Arya’s eager tone, smiling as Sansa slings an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “I’ve missed it as well. None of the men at the club skilled enough to challenge you?”

“Not one of them,” Arya replies, glee evident in her tone. “There’s a few who aren’t bad, but they’re all soldiers sent back from the front due to injuries and aren’t at full strength. How soon do you think you can join me there?”

“Not until after she’s settled in a little,” a new voice interjects, and all three women turn as their hostess, Princess Catelyn Stark, descended the main staircase to join her daughters and guest in the foyer. “I know you’re eager to spar with Brienne, Arya, but she does have obligations to fulfill before you can drag her off to spar.” Catelyn smiles kindly at them all before striding over to embrace Sansa. “It’s good to see you both looking so well. How was your journey?”

“Surprisingly smooth, considering the storm raging outside,” Sansa responds, kissing her mother on the cheek before stepping back. “We were fortunate to have calm waters on our way from Tarth, which made everything much easier.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Catelyn says, embracing Brienne in turn before turning to Pod. “Podrick, would you mind taking the girls’ coats and bringing us some tea in the parlour? I’m sure you two will want to warm up after your journey, and we can talk more comfortably there.”

Pod bows his head again and hurries to take Brienne’s coat as she removes it. “I will do so, Princess Catelyn.” He hastily grabs Sansa’s coat as well before disappearing back down the hall as Catelyn gestures the women to follow her into the front parlour adjoining the foyer.

Brienne sits next to Arya on a sofa, while Catelyn and Sansa sit together across from them. Pod scurries in a moment later with a tray, which he places on the table before pouring everyone a cup of tea and darting back out again. For a moment, the four women sit in silence, until Arya pipes up.

“How are things on Tarth, then? I really wanted to go with you this time, but someone had to stay with Mother in the city.”

“Everything is well,” Brienne answers, glancing at Sansa as she does. “My father is quite concerned about the marble mines with so many workers going off to the war, but the wives and daughters are willing to pitch in and ensure production continues. It’s been rather quiet otherwise, as we’re far enough from the front to be unaffected by the war beyond many of our men leaving.”

“Including your brother, if I recall correctly,” Catelyn says, sipping her tea with an elegant poise Brienne wishes she could match. “The count’s last letter to Sansa stated he planned to join the fighting, or so she tells me.”

Brienne nods as her brother’s smiling face flashes in her mind for a moment. “Galladon left for the front a few weeks before we departed to come here. He would have left earlier, but Father wanted to ensure everything for the betrothal was in order in case…in case something happens to him out there.”

She’s saved from having to elaborate by Arya bouncing in her seat. “So it’s done, then?” she asks her sister eagerly. “You’re engaged now?”

Sansa smiles, pretty and demure and looking the perfect princess. “It is,” she murmurs over the lip of her teacup. “Galladon and I are to be wed upon his return, either on leave or at the war’s end.”

Catelyn smiles at her eldest daughter, pride and relief mixing in her gaze. “Excellent. The Tarths are a good family, and the young count will be an excellent match for you, Sansa. Better than I had hoped after we lost Winterfell.”

Sansa bows her head, and even Arya settles a little at her mother’s words. Losing their estate in the North had forced the Stark family to confront the truth of their many debts, meaning Catelyn’s daughters had far fewer marriage prospects than either of their parents had thought. Even Brienne, despite her appearance and preference for men’s garb and activities, had better prospects than her two friends—as evidenced by the circumstances of her own engagement.

“Galladon’s very kind,” Sansa says after a moment in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m sure he’ll be an excellent husband—though of course, not as wonderful as the prince will be to Brienne.”

“Ah, yes,” Catelyn says, her already impeccable posture straightening even more. “I must congratulate you on that match, Brienne. Prince Renly seemed so reluctant to marry for such a long time, many believed he never would. Your engagement to him makes you the most enviable woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms, if I may be so bold.”

Brienne flushes red at her hostess’s words. “I thank you for your kind words. I suppose I was simply lucky enough to catch his attention for longer than most women, though I know I am not what is typically expected of a wife.”

“Nonsense,” Arya says with a wave of her hand. “Prince Renly is the youngest brother in the Baratheon family, with an elder brother already wed. He has no need to marry with so many heirs ahead of him, but he chose you anyways. He must see you for the wonder you are and love you dearly for it, making him far more sensible than any of those other men who can’t see past outward appearances.”“Arya’s right,” Sansa agrees, reaching across the table to lay her hand over Brienne’s. “You’re a wonderful woman, Brienne. I’m glad someone finally saw the truth of you.”

Catelyn’s smile at both her daughters is far more genuine than before. “You know Sansa, there was a time you would have rather ripped out all your hair than admit Arya was right about something.”

The sisters exchange a quick glance and start giggling. “There was,” Sansa says, winking at her sister and making her laugh harder, “but we have both grown and matured since then and know life is too short for such petty feuds. With Father dead, Robb and Jon off at war, and Bran and Rickon with Aunt Lysa in the Vale, we have to work together if we want to see any of our family reunited.”

“Plus,” Arya adds with another fit of giggles, “we’ve discovered it’s much more enjoyable to join forces to cause mischief than to pick stupid fights with each other all the time.” She and Sansa continue to giggle for a moment while Catelyn shakes her head with a fond look on her face.

Observing the joy of the three women around her, Brienne feels an abrupt longing for her brother and father, one off at war and the other back on Tarth. She is eager to explore the capital and reunite with the handsome prince of her dreams, but all this would be far more enjoyable if she could have her family at her side. 

“It’s delightful to have you both in the city,” Catelyn says to Brienne and Sansa once her daughters finally cease their laughter. “Arya is sick and tired of me dragging her around when she’d much rather be at the club, and I have many places I’d like to show you.” She pauses as Sansa covers her mouth to hide a yawn, flushing slightly. “That can wait until tomorrow, though. You’ve come a long way, and you need rest to recover from your journey.”

She claps her hands once, and Pod appears almost immediately, turning to Sansa with a lowered head. “Allow me to show you to your room, princess,” he says to her, and she smiles and nods at the three other woman before trailing Pod out of the room and down the hall.

Arya stands up soon after and turns to Brienne with a devilish smirk crossing her face. “Mother will keep you occupied for the next couple of days, but as soon as you have free time I’ll take you to the club. I have a new duelling partner there who I think you’ll be very good friends with.”

“I look forward to it,” Brienne tells her, and Arya bounces in place once before darting off down the hall. Catelyn smiles fondly after her younger daughter before turning to Brienne and becoming serious.

“Brienne,” she says quietly as Pod comes in to take the tray away, “I’ve received a letter from Prince Stannis Baratheon, your betrothed’s brother. He’s asked that you come by their home in King’s Landing to meet with him, his elder brother, and possibly his brother’s wife if she’s not visiting with her own brother. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Brienne murmurs before straightening and meeting Catelyn’s gaze. “It’s rather sudden, but I can be there. I’ll have to meet with them eventually. There’s no sense in putting it off.”

Catelyn smiles at her, something sad in her gaze. “Very well. I’ll write Prince Stannis later this evening and tell him to expect you. I will warn you, however, that the eldest Baratheon brother is…not well. He was badly injured in the war, and though he wasn’t a particularly kind man before the war he’s now become cruel and prone to lashing out unexpectedly. I mentioned that his wife is unlikely to be present when you visit, but what I did not say is that she will be absent because of his treatment of her. He frequently accuses her of adultery despite having no evidence to support his claims, and she has begun to stay with her brother on the rare occasions he is in the capital rather than remain with her husband. Prince Robert will not like you, Brienne, and he will not be gentle when he expresses his dislike.”

“I can handle him,” Brienne says stubbornly. There is nothing Robert Baratheon can say to her that she has not heard before. After all, she had three broken betrothals before Renly came to Tarth. “It will be alright.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Catelyn says, almost too softly to be heard. “Prince Stannis is much more agreeable, though the rumour in court is that he is unhappy at being forced to tend to his elder brother while the youngest remains at the front. Still, if you win him over then all will be well, and nothing Prince Robert says or does will be enough to ruin you.” She stands and presses a hand to Brienne’s shoulder before stepping away. “Now go get some rest, my dear. You look exhausted from your journey, and tomorrow promises to be an exciting day for us all.”


	3. The Private & Intimate Life of the House/Natasha & Bolkonsky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and I have no friends..._
> 
> He has yet to meet Countess Brienne Tarth, though he can predict what sort of woman was finally able to capture his free-spirited brother’s attention.
> 
> featuring Stannis's many complaints, some King's Landing gossip, a disastrous tea party, and an accurate prediction of the future from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, that's a long chapter title.
> 
> this chapter brought to you by wildfire smoke and uni-induced anxiety. also by me writing Stannis POV for the first and last time since I legitimately cannot care less about him as a character. the idea of Stannis as Mary was just too funny to pass up, though, so here this is.
> 
> be aware that Robert is an absolute asshole in this, and Stannis has some thoughts about Brienne and Cersei that...aren't kind. he does feel a bit guilty about his rudeness, though. 
> 
> find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat). idk when the next chapter of this is going to show up, but it will. eventually.

_And I have no friends  
No, never go anywhere…_

Near the castle in the heart of King’s Landing, in the district reserved for the wealthiest nobles of Westeros, stands the Baratheon manor, an elegant and modern building decorated with stone and silk in the fashion of the Stormlands and their estate at Storm’s End. It is a beautiful house, the finest the immense Baratheon fortune can purchase, and Prince Stannis Baratheon hates it with a passion he normally reserves for far more important manners.

If one were to ask him why he despises his family’s manor so much, he would tell them about how frustrating it is to be the unloved and ignored middle brother forced to tend to his irritable, injured elder brother while said brother and his insufferable wife snipped back and forth at each other until she stormed off to go cry on her own brother’s shoulder and his younger brother went and sought glory on the front lines of a war he should rightfully be fighting in as well if it weren’t for the fact that no one else is equipped to care for Robert and neither Renly nor Cersei would ever take the time to think of someone beyond themselves for once and ease the burden they would rather place upon his shoulders.

Of course, no one asks him his opinion on these sorts of things. He doubts few are even aware of his disdain for his self-centred brothers and his equally self-centred goodsister, beyond the one kind servant in his household. His brothers pay him no attention unless they want to ask something of him, and Cersei is rarely home anymore to notice his presence around the manor. Only Davos bothers to ask him if he is well, and a Baratheon prince can not be reduced to only having a servant for a friend and confidante.

So he continues on with his thankless tasks, tending to Robert when he bellows in pain and enduring his frequent and unpredictable rages and organizing the household affairs that Cersei should rightly be taking care of and arranging for Renly’s fiancée to come visit when Renly can’t be bothered to do so himself. And he doesn’t complain to anyone besides Davos, though he can’t guarantee that he’ll keep his mouth shut if the countess makes some snide comment about him doing a women’s work when she visits later that afternoon.

He has yet to meet Countess Brienne Tarth, though he can predict what sort of woman was finally able to capture his free-spirited brother’s attention. She’ll be pretty, well-mannered, elegant, with a tongue sharp enough to cut that she only wields against those less fortunate than herself. She’ll immediately feel a kinship with Cersei, who is all of those things and unfaithful on top of everything else. And if she’s pretty enough, Robert might finally cease harassing the maids and turn his dubious affections on his brother’s bride-to-be instead.

Robert, of course, expects the countess to be something entirely different. “I’ve heard the rumours about her, Stannis,” he says that morning over breakfast. Cersei is gone, of course, off pestering her unfortunate brother and relieving Stannis of her overwhelming presence for a little while, at least. “They say Count Tarth’s daughter is cursed with ugliness, that she’s more hideous than any wild beast or storybook monster. They say she’s had three betrothals broken before this one, and that when Renly finally stops gazing after the Tyrell sharpshooter he’ll see exactly how unsuited she is for marriage and abandon her for far better prospects.”

“Her father governs an entire island,” Stannis replies mildly as he studies the book before him in order to avoid looking at his elder brother. “The Tarths are not nearly as wealthy as we are, but her dowry is significant enough to forgive many wrongs. Even if she is as ugly as they claim, she will not go unwed for long once men learn of the fortune she comes from. And who are the people claiming such things, anyways?”

Robert shrugs, clearly finished with the conversation already. “Oh, all sorts of people. Count Connington’s cousin, the red one, he was the worst about it, though. Or at least he was, until my prick of a goodbrother threatened to duel him over his words.”

At that, Stannis sits up straighter. “Why in the name of the gods would Jaime Lannister concern himself with the countess? Has he even met her?”

“I believe the families are friendly,” Robert tells him while gulping down the last of his tea. He’s in a rare good mood this morning, which makes him more open to conversation than normal. “He probably though it a worthy thing to defend a friend’s honour. Though why he bothered, I don’t know. I won’t pretend to know the illustrious Lannister prince’s mind. I hardly ever speak with the arrogant fool anyways.” He stares down into his empty cup before whipping around to glare at a passing maid. “Why is it my cup has gone empty? Refill it, now, before I see fit to throw you out onto the street!”

And with that comes the end of their civil conversation, as well as all Stannis’s hopes that tea this afternoon will go smoothly. Robert already sees the countess as a curiosity with little else to recommend her, and if he knows his brother at all then he will say something to mortally offend her for no reason other than his own entertainment. They’ll be lucky if the countess waits until Renly’s return to break the engagement after that.

And all this without Cersei’s presence making everything worse, too. Truly, he’s in for a dismal afternoon.

There is a moment, though, when he’s instructing Davos on the preparations for tea, when the guilt catches up with him and his hatred turns until it’s directed towards himself. Perhaps he’s too hard on his brothers and Cersei, and even the countess he has yet to meet. After all, Robert may be hard and callous but there are days when his brother’s pain is horrific enough to reduce him to a shell of a man, thrashing and sobbing until the maester must be summoned to ease his pain, days when Stannis struggles to stay by his brother’s side and witness how he suffers in the grip of his agony.

Renly, too, has changed of late, no longer as jovial and carefree as he was before the war began. On his last leave, before he travelled to Tarth, he joked less, smiled less often, spoke of duty more than ever before. Maybe that’s why he finally decided to marry, why he chose the Tarth countess as his bride when he’d spurned a hundred women before. The war seems to have taught his younger brother a sense of duty he’d lacked, a sense that even Stannis can respect despite everything that’s happened between them.

And Cersei, poor Cersei, can he truly blame her for seeking comfort and affection away from her husband’s cruel manner? If he were in her position, would he not do the same? If her brother offers her reassurance Robert fails to, it’s no wonder she prefers his company over staying at home. Does he have any right to judge them, when he has not experienced what they have?

But then Robert’s voice echoes through the house as he bellows at another unfortunate servant, and the moment passes. He straightens his spine, fixes his collar, and glares at his reflection in the mirror before stalking upstairs to deal with his irksome elder brother, cursing the gods all the while for burdening him with such an unfortunate family to care for.

*** 

_Constrained and strained  
Irksome…_

Robert has finally settled, and Stannis is inspecting the parlour one more time, when someone tentatively raps on the door. He quickly assumes a nonchalant air while waiting for Davos to usher their guest in, only turning around when footsteps sound in the hall behind him.

“Prince Stannis,” Davos utters in a formal tone, bowing low, “may I present Countess Brienne Tarth, your brother’s betrothed? Countess Tarth, allow me to present Prince Stannis Baratheon, your host this afternoon.”

He vanishes down the hall as Stannis and the countess study each other with wary gazes. It seems that Robert was correct after all, and Countess Tarth truly is as ugly as they claim she is. Her features are mismatched, as if some child pieced them together at random, and no amount of styling or fashionable clothing can hide her limp hair or her broad, muscular build. Her brilliant blue eyes assess him shrewdly, but it is clear she is unaccustomed to court for her doubt and suspicion is all too obvious to anyone looking for it.

“Prince Stannis,” she says at last, her tone too stiff and formal. “It is…a pleasure to meet you at last.” She doesn’t say that Renly has spoken highly of him, at least. He’ll grant her that one thing, if nothing else.

“Countess,” he replies with equal formality, gesturing to a chair across from him. “Do sit down. I am…delighted to meet the woman who has captured my carefree brother’s heart at last.”

She moves tentatively to the chair and sits, her movements lacking the grace he’d expected her to have. “I am sorry to hear that Prince Robert will not be joining us this afternoon,” she says after a moment, perhaps sensing that the silence has stretched on for too long. “I hope his pain eases soon and allows him to rest a little.”

He dips his head in acknowledgement but does not respond. In truth, Robert’s pain is more than manageable today. But the good temper of the morning faded quickly, and it would not do well for Renly’s fiancée to be offended by the eldest brother quite so soon in her stay in King’s Landing. “I trust your journey was a smooth one?”

She nods, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap. Neither of them are suited to idle chatter, making this conversation far more difficult than it needs to be. “It was, yes. Princess Sansa and I encountered no trouble along the way.”

He can’t refrain from wrinkling his nose at the mention of the eldest Stark daughter. Eddard Stark was a dear friend of Robert’s who held little love for either of the younger Baratheon brothers, and Stannis has never forgotten the slight of his elder brother brushing him off in favour of the Stark prince many a time before the man passed defending his Winterfell estate from the invaders. He has no issues with the Starks themselves, but the name still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The countess frowns at his reaction, and he realizes too late that he’s misstepped. She’s staying with the Starks and travelled with Princess Sansa, who’s now betrothed to her elder brother. He should have expected she’d be a strong defender of the family. 

They both remain silent for a long while, too long. There’ll be no repairing the awkwardness now, not after they’ve sat in silence when they should be speaking, discussing whatever it is people discuss when they meet their soon-to-be-goodsister for afternoon tea. 

“I hear your brother has also recently been engaged,” he says at last, grasping for any neutral topic between them. “Your father must be glad to see both his children matched so well.”

The countess frowns again, though this one seems more uncertain than offended. “I presume he is, yes. My brother and I will likely marry around the same time as well, since he and Renly expect their next leaves shall be aligned.”

Her voice softens on his brother’s name, and he feels a stab of pity for the ungainly girl seated across from him. She loves Renly, the foolish girl, not realizing that his younger brother would much prefer the company of his fellow men to hers. He wonders what Renly said to win her over so quickly, though he imagines it would not take much for an ugly young woman who has rarely been shown kindness to fall for a handsome prince offering her the barest of courtesies. He’s seen the same thing play out a thousand times, with both his brother and Cersei’s.

“That is a most fortuitous coincidence for you both,” he tells her, taking a sip of tea in order to occupy his hands with something. “I am glad to hear it.”

She nods, as stilted as she was upon her arrival. “I thank you for your kindness, Prince Stannis. I know it must be difficult for you, having to care for the manor and your brother while my fiancé is off at war. I appreciate that you have taken the time to invite me to visit as well.”

Her words are meant kindly, but he stiffens and recoils anyways. “It is no trouble, countess,” he replies, far colder than he should be. “I have always done well in fulfilling my obligations.”

She flinches back from his harsh words, her cheeks flushing bright red. “I meant no offence. I apologize if I have wronged you somehow.”

He sets his teacup down harder than he means to, and it clatters loudly in the saucer as he sits back in his seat. “Of course you did not mean to offend. No one ever does, and yet they offend anyways. My dear goodsister is an excellent example of such a phenomenon, as you would see if she had deigned to be here.”

Her blush spreads down her neck, and her hands shake in her lap. “Prince Stannis, I hardly think—“

She’s interrupted by Robert bursting into the room, half-dressed and wild-eyed with Davos chasing after him. “Stannis, my dear brother,” he booms, his voice filling the room and drowning out Davos’s protests, “you neglected to inform me that our guest had arrived already.” He turns to the countess, his eyes widening as he takes her in. “My gods, it seems Ronnet Connington was correct about her. She really is the ugliest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Robert,” Stannis says sharply, rising and stepping in front of his brother. “She is our guest and Renly’s fiancée. Be polite.”

To her credit, the countess says nothing about their argument or Robert’s half-dressed state, instead fixing her gaze on the opposite wall while her flush deepens in colour. Davos steps forward to pull Robert back, but Stannis waves the servant off.

“Please, brother,” he says, gesturing to the hall behind them. “There is no need to insult the countess still further. We were getting along fine until you came in.”

Robert laughs loudly, shoving Stannis’s outstretched arm aside. “It didn’t look like you were getting along from what I saw. I didn’t take you for such a terrible liar, yet it seems you’re determined to prove me wrong. You and the beast both. Gods, how drunk was Renly when he proposed to her? There must have been something blinding him from her hideous features.”

The countess flinches at his brother’s words, quickly rising to her feet and stepping around them both. “I am afraid I must take my leave of you both,” she says quietly, a stricken note in her voice as she backs down the hallway. “I thank you for your hospitality, Prince Stannis.”

“Hospitality,” Robert snickers, shaking his head. “Is that what you call insulting guests now?”

He shoves his brother aside and hurries after the countess, catching her just as Davos hands her her cloak. “Countess, wait! I apologize for the behaviour of my brother and myself. Things have been difficult without Renly around. We did not mean to hurt you so. I am glad to know you have brought my brother happiness, truly. If you would stay a while longer, we can sort all this out.”

She steps back, pulling her cloak around her shoulders, and he knows before she speaks that the battle is lost. “There is no need to explain to me, Prince Stannis,” she tells him, looking regal and dignified as she turns away from him. “I know my presence is unwelcome to you and your brother, so I will not impose on you any longer. I wish you both a good afternoon, and I pray that you are not burdened with me too often after all this.”

Before he can find words to response, she vanishes out the door with a swirl of her cloak, stepping into the waiting carriage on the drive. Davos places a reassuring hand on his shoulder as the doors slam shut in her wake, leaving him gaping in the foyer.

“Next time, it will go better,” the servant assures him before heading off to the parlour to clean up the tea things. “Next time.”

He admires the man’s confidence, but in truth he hardly believes there will be a next time. The countess has been mortally offended by the events in the parlour, and Renly’s return will surely show her that none of the Baratheon brothers are worth of her time and attention. A shame, really. When she stood so tall and proud before her departure, staring at him with the chilling judgement of a warrior of old, she seemed more suited for the title of princess than any other woman he has known. 

Eventually, he is certain, some wiser man will see the marvel she hides behind unfortunate looks and a shy demeanour. But if he were a betting man, then he would say with absolute certainty that none of the three Baratheon brothers is destined to be that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if Jaime were present in this chapter, we might ask him why he threatened to duel RonCon over Brienne. if he were present, he probably wouldn't answer that question because he doesn't actually know the answer himself. it's probably a good thing Jaime isn't present, because his lack of self-awareness would probably be as irritating to Stannis as Robert's entire existence is.
> 
> the staging for Natasha & Bolkonsky in the show is absolutely hilarious, btw. it's a shame there's no legal recordings of this show, bc I would pay good money to watch it over and over again.


	4. No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the moon..._
> 
> Brienne manages to hold the tears back until she reaches her room in the Stark manor, though it’s a close thing.
> 
> featuring a chat with Podrick Payne, most of Brienne's backstory, and some highly implausible hopes for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite uni absolutely kicking my ass, I've managed to actually write a few things this week. fortunately, this chapter's mainly introspective rather than plot-heavy, so it came together pretty quickly. I can make no such guarantees for the following chapter, unfortunately. but thank you for reading this one so far! all three of you, that is!
> 
> this chapter brought to you by ghost quartet, ironically enough. also my love for my son Podrick Payne, one of the few asoiaf characters I would willingly die for.
> 
> find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), if you so desire.

_First time I heard your voice  
Moonlight burst into the room…_

Brienne manages to hold the tears back until she reaches her room in the Stark manor, though it’s a close thing. Catelyn had done her best to prepare Brienne for the onslaught of the Baratheon brothers, but no amount of preparation could have readied her for the rude behaviour she encountered—nor could it have readied her for the awful words of Prince Robert when he burst into the parlour and turned the already-humiliating experience into a disastrous one.

She’s heard such insults before—neither of her last two fiancés held back when breaking those engagements, and the men she encounters at the club have said all manner of horrific things to her—but she’d expected better of a prince hosting her, one whose brother she is to marry in a handful of months. 

“Would they have been so rude if Renly were with me?” she demands of the wall, swiping furiously at her eyes. “Or if I were prettier, more like Sansa or Catelyn in appearance? I highly doubt Princess Cersei received so cruel a welcome upon her engagement to Prince Robert.”

The wall doesn’t provide her with an answer, not that she had expected it to. Someone does rap on her door, though, too gentle to be any of the Starks. “Countess Brienne?” a tentative male voice calls from the other side of the door when she doesn’t answer, a voice she recognizes as belonging to the young servant who brought tea in yesterday—Pod, she believes his name is. “Are you quite alright?”

She smiles upon hearing the genuine concern in his voice, wiping her face one more time before rising from her seat upon her bed. “Not really, Pod, but do come in anyways.”

The servant looks a little sheepish as he slips into the room, shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just that you seemed upset when you came in and I…I wanted to be certain you were alright.”

“You’re not intruding, Pod,” she tells him kindly, and he flushes and looks down at his shoes. “In truth, I could use some company, and I believe Catelyn and her daughters are out this afternoon.”

Pod nods quickly, looking pleased to be of use. “They are. Princess Arya wanted to go to the club, and Princess Catelyn took Princess Sansa shopping at Madam Melisandre’s. No one expected you to be back so quickly, so everyone else is out of the house.”

Brienne sighs heavily, returning her gaze to the wall. “I wasn’t supposed to return so soon, but I could not stay at the Baratheon manor any longer. My fiancé’s brothers are not kind men, and I refuse to waste my time with those unable to treat me with the respect they’d offer to other men and women of my station.”

“I take it tea went badly,” Pod says before flushing again. “Obviously, since you’re back already.”

“It went very badly,” she mutters, her brow furrowing into a glare. “Prince Stannis pretended at civility, but took the opportunity to throw slanderous words at me as soon as he felt he was provided one. And Prince Robert…well, all I will say about him is that I would be far happier if I never were to encounter him again.”

Pod offers her a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry to hear that. Your betrothed—Prince Renly, I mean—he isn’t cruel like them, is he?”

Her heart leaps eagerly upon hearing Renly’s name, and she smiles again, softer than the one she gave Pod before. “No, he’s nothing like his brothers. Renly is kind and caring and handsome, the sort of man I used to dream about before I learned better. He protected me from the mockery of minor nobility at the ball my father hosted to welcome him, and he refused to depart Tarth before he had won my hand. He’s like a prince from the old songs, gallant and wonderful. He would never be so cruel as his brothers were.”

“It sounds like you love him very much,” Pod says, sounding a little wistful. “That must be lovely, to have a fiancé you love dearly.”

She places a hand on his shoulder and offers him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you’ll find such love yourself one day, Pod. You’re a lovely young man, and anyone would be lucky to wed you.”

The young man ducks his head beneath her praise, but he’s smiling broadly, “Thank you, Countess Brienne. You’re very kind to say so.”

“It’s the truth. I am glad to be able to tell it to you.”

“How did you meet your prince?” Pod asks after a moment passes in silence. “Was it at that ball you mentioned earlier?”

“It was,” she responds, “at least officially. I knew from the beginning that he was on Tarth seeking a bride, so I tried to avoid him up until then, but there was one night where I heard him talking in the yard with someone else. His voice seemed so powerful, so warm, and I knew I had to meet the person it belonged to or I would never be content.”

“You found him soon enough, it seems.” Pod offers her a brilliant smile, and her heart swells at his delight for her. “Since the ball cannot have been long after.”

“It was not, no. His proposal came around a month after the ball, once he deemed we knew each other well enough to commit to marriage.”

“That seems hasty,” Pod says, frowning. 

Brienne shrugs her shoulders. Her father had made the same comment when Renly proposed, and she hadn’t had an answer for him either. “Maybe so, but he did have to return to the front not long after. I suppose he wanted to have the certainty of an engagement before then, though I can’t say for certain since he never shared his reasoning with me. It was a hasty engagement, but anything can happen in a kingdom at war.”

Pod nods slowly as if he’s absorbing her words. “Tell me more about Prince Renly,” he says finally, seeming to come to a conclusion in his own mind. “What is it about him that you love?”

She smiles, a little dreamy though she can’t be bothered to care. “He’s handsome and kind, and he dances well. He stepped in to dance with me when the minor nobility were all laughing and told me not to heed their words, that what they said shouldn’t mean anything to me. Only my father and my brother have shown me such kindness before—and you have, I suppose.”

“That’s awful!” Pod cries, looking distraught on her behalf. “How could all those men treat you so poorly? You’re one of the best people I’ve met, and I genuinely enjoy my work with the Starks!”

“I’m an ugly woman in a world that favours beauty,” she tells him. There was a time when she would have been just as outraged as Pod is now, but she resigned herself long ago to the truth within the mirror. Renly may have bothered to look beyond her appearance, but he’ll likely be the only one to do so. “My personality is of no consequence to them. After all, they don’t mock beautiful women for having terrible personalities, do they?”

“Most men mock everyone,” Pod says morosely. “They mock women on their appearances, or on their clothing despite knowing nothing about fashion themselves, or on their family fortunes, or on their supposed promiscuity, or whatever other weakness they perceive a woman to have. No one is safe from them, not even other men if they think you’re weak or simply not man enough. They used to pick on me all the time in my old household because I was small and shy and didn’t fight back.”

She claps a hand to her mouth, horror-struck at his words. “Oh gods, Pod! I’m so sorry that happened to you. What did your employers do about it?”

He shakes his head, his brown eyes looking far too old and mournful. “Nothing at all. Count Connington was always abroad, and his cousin Ronnet was the worst of the lot when it came to picking on others. The only reason I no longer work for them is because the count lost much of his fortune in the gambling hall after Emperor Rhaegar died. They couldn’t afford to keep much of the staff on anymore, so I came here instead.”

She can’t help her flinch at hearing the name Ronnet Connington. It’s been years since he viciously broke their betrothal in front of half the island, but his words still linger in the back of her mind, a sharp reminder of every way she fails her family as a daughter, as a sister. “Count Connington’s cousin is not a kind man. I wish I could say I’m surprised to hear he was so cruel to you.”

“He says awful things about you as well,” Pod tells her with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Or he did, until Prince Jaime Lannister threatened to duel him for insulting a noble lady so. Now he says nothing for fear of crossing the prince. Even without his right hand, he’s still a deadly shot.”

 _Jaime Lannister? Galladon’s friend from school? Why would he threaten to duel Ronnet over me, of all people?_ “Renly isn’t a very good shot. He doesn’t need to be, though. I can shoot well enough for the both of us.”

“Princess Arya says you fence too,” Pod says, perking up as the topic of conversation shifts. “She’s been talking about taking you to the club all week.”

“I do fence, yes,” she says, barely stifling a laugh. Of course all Arya spoke about was fencing with her. “Arya’s faster than I am, but I’m stronger. We’re both very good at it, too. I can only think of a few men who can defeat either of us.”

Pod’s eyes gleam with excitement. “That sounds fascinating. Can I come to the club with you two on my next day off? I’d love to see you both in action, and I’ve never been to the club before.”

She smiles fondly at him and his eagerness. “I’ll have to ask Arya, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I’d love to have you with us.”

He nods, maintaining a straight face for another second before an eager look breaks out across his face. “Well? Do you feel better now?”

Brienne can’t help but laugh as he bounces in place next to her, wide-eyed and grinning. “I do. Thank you for talking with me, Pod. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, but I wanted to,” he says, smiling at her one more time before backing towards the door. “If you ever need to talk, countess, I will be here.”

“Thank you,” she tells him one last time, waving as the door closes behind him. Pod’s a welcome distraction from her worries, even if she’s still smarting from the events at tea earlier in the afternoon. She’ll talk to Catelyn about it later, though, and they’ll figure out what to do about the mishap with Renly’s brothers. And even later, when Renly returns from the front and they’re wed at last, she’ll see if she can convince him to stay elsewhere in King’s Landing, away from his brothers and their cold words. 

She just needs Renly to return, to take her in his arms and promise to solve all her problems. Once he comes back, all will be well, and they’ll be as happy as they were during those blissful summer days on Tarth, when war and winter seemed impossibly far away and she wasn’t fretting over her fiancé’s increasingly rare letters from the front.

Everything will be fixed when Renly returns. It has to be. She has no idea what she’ll do if it isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confession time: I find it really easy to write all sorts of horrible things happening to jaime, but even writing insults about brienne is nearly impossible for me. not sure why that is, which is why she gets to have pod be nice to her in this entire chapter to make up for the mean things I have to do to her later in this fic.
> 
> Brienne's not going to spend any time unpacking why jaime would duel roncon over her. she probably should, but if these two weren't so emotionally inept they wouldn't be half as fun to write as they actually are.


	5. The Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the opera, the opera!_
> 
> Catelyn has indeed persuaded Arya to accompany them, and she sits sulking in the carriage as Brienne and Sansa join her inside it. “I hate the opera,” she tells them with a sniff as Catelyn steps in at last and the door shuts behind her. “It’s just an excuse for high society to get together and brag about how fancy they are. Nobody even cares about the show.”
> 
> featuring a night at the opera, all the latest gossip from King's Landing, the appearance of Hyle Hunt, and a frankly ridiculous amount of foreshadowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that I have never been to an opera, know nothing about opera, and have literally no opinions on opera at all. I'm a musical theatre person, so this is very much not my area of interest. the show that appears in this chapter is not based off of a real opera (as far as I know), but it _does_ serve a purpose plot-wise...
> 
> this chapter is the one that makes me feel guiltiest about making Hyle fill Anatole's role because Anatole's entrance in the song sounds more like something people would say about Jaime. but I also need Jaime to be Pierre, so I'll just have to live with my own poor choices. I had a similar thought about uni yesterday, but there's really no reason to look into that right now.
> 
> come find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), if you so desire. enjoy, and thank you for reading!!

_Ladies  
Welcome to the opera…_

“I don’t _want_ to go to the stupid opera, though!”

Arya’s plaintive cry rings through the entire manor, and Brienne and Sansa exchange an amused look in the mirror before Sansa returns her attention to Brienne’s hair. “They have the same argument every time,” she tells Brienne, as she stabs a final pin in and steps back to admire her handiwork. “And every time, Arya ends up at the opera with us. I’m not sure why she even bothers anymore. She knows it’s futile.”

“It might be about the spirit of the whole thing,” Brienne points out, rising to her feet and smoothing out the silk of her gown. “You know how Arya is.”

Sansa tips her head to the side before nodding. “Fair enough. I have to say, we both look excellent tonight.”

Brienne studies her reflection next to Sansa’s in the mirror with a frown. She’ll never be as pretty as the other woman, but Sansa has done an excellent job of making her look passable, enough that she feels comfortable heading out into public without a heavy cloak shrouding her from view. Her blue silk gown suits her as well as any gown ever will, and her hair doesn’t look too terrible either. She won’t say she feels beautiful, but for once she feels confident no one will mock and deride her for her ugliness.

“Let’s go,” she tells Sansa, striding out the door and down the main staircase of the manor. “Your mother has likely coerced Arya into the carriage by now.”

Catelyn has indeed persuaded Arya to accompany them, and she sits sulking in the carriage as Brienne and Sansa join her inside it. “I hate the opera,” she tells them with a sniff as Catelyn steps in at last and the door shuts behind her. “It’s just an excuse for high society to get together and brag about how fancy they are. Nobody even cares about the show.”

“That may be so,” Catelyn tells her youngest daughter as the driver sets the carriage into motion, “but we cannot afford to not be seen there. Our position in King’s Landing is tenuous enough as it is, even with Sansa’s engagement to Galladon Tarth.”

Arya sighs heavily as the carriage weaves its way towards the Red Keep and the opera house a block outside of the castle grounds. “I know that. I don’t have to like it to attend, though.”

“No one likes the opera,” Sansa says, placing a placating hand on her sister’s arm. “I’d much prefer it if we simply went there to enjoy the show. But the political game must be played, and we have lost enough in the last year as it is.”

The carriage soon rolls to a halt outside the opera house, and the driver vaults down to help the four woman alight from it one by one. Brienne can’t keep herself from staring as they join the crowd of nobles filing into the theatre and milling about the lobby, gaping at the sheer number of jewels and shining medals and silken gowns she sees around her. So few of the other nobility ever make their way to Tarth. She’s never seen anything so extravagant before.

She’s hardly taken two steps before the whispers begin, heads turning in her direction as more and more people realize who she is. Her cheeks flush hotly as their eyes settle on her, but Sansa links a reassuring arm through hers and they walk on together, side by side. The whispers continue, though, half jealous and half mocking.

_…Prince Renly’s betrothed…_

_…how in the hells did_ she _land a Baratheon…_

_…an ugly girl like that and a handsome prince like him…_

_…you must be japing…_

_…such a lucky girl…_

_…i hear her father’s far wealthier than he lets on…_

_…what does she have that I don’t…_

“Look,” Sansa says abruptly, tugging on her arm. “Theon Greyjoy. Remember him?”

“He went off to war a little before Robb did,” Arya adds, her head swivelling in the young man’s direction. The Greyjoy prince looks almost ten years older than he did the last time Brienne saw him, weary-eyed and limping as he talks with his sister in the corner. “Looks like the war did a number on him.”

“Jon Connington’s looking grey,” Catelyn mutters as a tall man with red hair walks past them. “I wonder if he’s ill.”

Brienne stares with horror at a bent-backed old noble arm in arm with a woman who looks younger than Sansa. “Has Walder Frey remarried again?”

“He did,” Catelyn says with a shudder, turning away from the leering count as he glances in their direction. “This one’s younger than Sansa, if you can believe it. I don’t see why he needs this wife, honestly, he’s had more than his fair share already.”

“Prince Oberyn’s here!” Arya says excitedly, and Brienne turns in time to see a handsome man with brown skin and black eyes stride in with four young women trailing behind him. “And he brought the Grand Duchess as well.”

“And his niece, Princess Arianne, as well as two of his daughters,” Catelyn says, nodding to the Dornish prince as he passes them. “A lovely man, far kinder than his reputation would have you think. He’s a good friend to have in a pinch, though I fear Ned never liked him all that much.”

Sansa nudges Brienne again, jerking her chin towards an old woman wearing a spectacular headdress of jewels and feathers. “Look at Count Tyrell’s mother. How does she wear a headdress like that without being mocked for it?”

“Half the court fears her,” Catelyn tells them as they approach their box, a remnant of a time when the Stark name had a vast fortune behind it. “They don’t dare to mock her for fear of incurring Highgarden’s wrath. Everyone knows she’s the one who truly governs there.”

A handsome young man strides in behind Olenna Tyrell, a pair of guns gleaming at his belt as he stalks up the aisle. Almost every woman’s head swivels in his direction, most of them flushing or hiding their faces behind fans and gloved palms. 

“Loras Tyrell,” Catelyn says with disdain as he pauses beside his grandmother and speaks with her in a low voice. “Everyone’s favourite assassin. All the women are mad about him ever since he returned from the front after shooting that Braavosi prince’s brother, though the rumour is that women don’t hold his fancy much.”

“I though he asked to marry you once,” Brienne whispers to Sansa, leaning in when Catelyn turns her attention to someone else arriving. 

“He did,” Sansa whispers back, “but that was before father died and we lost our fortune. He left after that, though I should have refused him from the beginning. He’s too used to his good looks getting him everything he wants.”

A beautiful woman with long gold hair and piercing green eyes joins Loras as he turns away from his grandmother, and the two whisper together as the eyes of the court swivel to them instead of Brienne. “Cersei Baratheon,” Catelyn tells them, glaring at the woman as she brushes a hand along Loras’s arm. “Robert’s wife, though you’d hardly know it from how she leers at the young Count Tyrell. I’m surprised her brother isn’t with her, before he went to war you never saw them far from each other’s sides.”

“I don’t like her,” Arya mutters, folding her arms as they stand outside the box and observe those still entering the theatre. “She thinks herself above everyone else, though only the gods know why. Her brother’s alright, though. I spar with him sometimes at the club.”

Catelyn whips her head around to stare at Arya, her eyes wide. “You didn’t tell me you met with Jaime Lannister, Arya. You know your father hated him!”

Arya shrugs, a baffled look on her face. “I don’t see why that should matter. Besides, he’s nice, and he doesn’t insult me just because I’m a girl who wants to fight. I’d rather spar with him than most of the other men at the club.”

Catelyn shakes her head but says nothing, turning away before starting when Cersei Baratheon glides over to them with Loras Tyrell trailing a few steps behind her. “Princess Cersei,” she says, arranging her face into a warm smile. “It’s good to see you here. I feared you wouldn’t come, what with your husband’s ill health and all.”

The princess grimaces slightly at the mention of her husband before her features match Catelyn’s inviting smile. “Yes, well dear Robert couldn’t stand the idea of me staying to tend him when I could be out enjoying society with my friends. He was kind enough to arrange for young Count Tyrell to accompany me here.”

“That sounds so sweet of him,” Catelyn replies, her smile turning a little smug. “And how is your brother? I was surprised to see he wasn’t with you as well tonight.”

“Jaime claimed he was in pain and wanted to rest,” Cersei says, waving a hand airily. “He’s been miserable ever since he returned from the front. It’s much more enjoyable without him.”

“A shame,” Catelyn says, her expression turning sharp. “I hear he’s befriended Arya, and I was hoping to invite him to come visit us. You must pass on the message for me, then.”

“I will do so,” Cersei says, a flicker crossing her face briefly before her smile returns. “Enjoy the opera.”

She walks away, taking Loras’s arm as she departs, and Catelyn turns back to her guests with a pinched expression. “Stay away from that woman if you know what is good for you,” she mutters, pushing past them into the box. “She brings nothing but trouble with her. Now come in, the show’s to begin shortly.”

“I’ve never been to an opera before,” Brienne admits as she follows Sansa and Arya into the box. “What’s it like?”

Arya merely shrugs and plops herself into a seat, but Sansa pauses and turns to face Brienne. “It depends on the show, in truth. I find some of them to be rather melodramatic, especially the tragedies, but the love stories are simply divine and the music is so incredibly different than what you hear anywhere else. Still, as Arya said, it’s mainly an excuse for the high society of King’s Landing to show off their wealth and beauty, and politics tend to ruin everything.”

“Indeed it does,” Catelyn says before shushing them and gesturing towards the stage. “Quiet now. It’s about to begin.”

A hush settles over all those gathered in the theatre as the red velvet curtain rises up to the rafters and the performers step onto the stage. They sing and chant and moan in a language unfamiliar to Brienne, gliding back and forth across the stage as the show progresses. Lost in the swirl of music and motion, she briefly wishes she’d asked Catelyn for a synopsis before the show began.

From what she manages to gather, the plot revolves around an emperor and his wife, ruling a land beset by terrible enemies from all sides. The actor portraying the emperor bows grandly before his empress before striding off to war, all bravado and reckless arrogance. Another actor slips onto the stage, circling the empress while offering her gifts and smiles, keeping one eye fixed on the empty throne beside her. She spurns him, turning her back and denying his gifts, and he retreats to the side of the stage to conspire with another man.

As the two actors sing back and forth, laying out their plot, a rush of cold air enters the room as the theatre doors swing open and a man enters. Few heads stay turned in his direction as he strides up the aisle towards the front, seeing as his features are plain and easily forgettable and his clothes are finely made but not rich or jewel-encrusted like the greater nobility. Shortly before he reaches the front row, he pauses and turns around, his gaze rising up to the box shared by Brienne and the Starks. His eyes fix directly on Brienne and he smiles, slowly, smugly, before taking a seat next to Loras and Cersei, who both welcome him like an old friend. 

“Baron Hyle Hunt,” Catelyn says in a low voice as everyone settles again. “A minor landowner down in the Reach. Lost most of his fortune in the gambling hall, or so I hear, and hopes that a friendship with the Tyrells will restore him to his former glory—however insignificant it was. He’s a very dull man. I wouldn’t bother paying him too much attention.”

 _Then why does he keep looking back at me?_ Brienne wonders as Catelyn returns her attention to the show. Baron Hunt’s gaze sends shivers down her spine that she’s never felt before, not even in Renly’s presence. Her family’s fortune may be significant enough to attract attention, but her appearance has turned away many a suitor before and her engagement must be common knowledge by now. Why is it that this baron will not leave her alone?  
She struggles to keep her attention on the opera as it progresses, watching as the plotting actors attempt to drag the empress off her throne and take it for themselves. As they do, the second plotter turns against his friend, arguing with him before leaving him alone to seize power from the empress. Before he can do so, yet another actor leaps into the fray, standing between the empress and the plotter with a drawn sword. He drives the plotter back and ushers the empress back to her throne before kneeling before her with his sword offered above him. 

The baron turns to look at her again and she flinches away from his gaze, fixing her eyes more firmly on the drama unfolding onstage as the emperor returns from war and rages at his wife, directing her to step away from the throne and place her crown at his feet. Her defender leaps between them, gesturing furiously as he argues with the emperor to no avail, since the emperor shakes his head and shoos them both aside. The empress and her defender leave the stage together, linking their hands as they go and causing Sansa to release a fluttery sigh in her seat next to Brienne. 

She glances over at the baron in the front row, trembling when she sees his gaze still fixed on her. Before her broken betrothals, before Renly, she might have welcomed the attention of a reasonably decent-looking man unable to look away from her. Now, though, she fears this sort of attention, particularly when her betrothal is widely known among the gossips residing in King’s Landing.

Several years ago, she bore witness to Sansa’s disastrous attempted betrothal to a distant Baratheon cousin, meaning she’s all too familiar with the sort of leering looks Baron Hunt is sending in her direction. Whatever this baron wants with her, it can’t be anything good.

Her preoccupation with the baron causes her to miss the end of the opera, and she only realizes it has concluded when the Starks rise to their feet around her to applaud the performers now gathering for bows on the stage. Hastily, she joins them in their applause, unwilling to be the odd one out in a theatre now cheering the actors with one mighty voice. She still feels the baron’s eyes fixed on her, though, even as she desperately tries to ignore them by turning to strike up a conversation with Sansa as they move to exit the box.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” she asks, shaking her head when Sansa frowns at her. “I have to admit, I found it difficult to follow, not knowing the language.”

Sansa nods, still looking concerned. “The show itself is beautiful, though you’re correct on the language piece. If I knew the language, I believe I would find it much more enjoyable.”

“Sansa! Arya!” Catelyn hisses from in the foyer, gesturing both her daughters over to where she stands talking to Olenna Tyrell and her eldest grandson. “Come say hello to Count and Countess Tyrell.”

Sansa sends Brienne one last searching look before hurrying over to join her mother, leaving Brienne alone in the box. She turns to gaze down at the rapidly emptying theatre, now strangely lonely with all its occupants departing. Whatever magic that captivated the audience while the performance was in full swing has fled, leaving merely dust and ashes behind.

She’s about to leave and join the Starks in the hall when the curtain behind her swishes open, letting in a gust of cooler air from outside. As she spins around to see who’s entered, Baron Hyle Hunt steps into the box, letting the curtain drop back into place as he straightens and raises his head in order to look her directly in the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the true achievement of this chapter is that jaime actually gets mentioned more than once. I swear we're going to see more of him soon, it's just that the first part of this is more about Brienne than I originally thought.
> 
> in the musical, dolokhov and Hélène are pretty much confirmed to be having an affair. Cersei and Loras aren't, though, because obviously Loras is not attracted to women. people do think they're having an affair, however, which leads to some interesting circles among the gossips of King's Landing. 
> 
> no I have no idea what language the opera was in. probably Valyrian, since this is asoiaf we're writing about here. also any opinions the characters express about the opera are not my own, as stated above. apologies to any opera lovers here, as I've probably completely butchered that part of the chapter and made it even clearer that I know nothing about that genre of music/performance/whatever it's classified as bc I certainly don't know.


	6. Natasha & Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I have long wished to have this happiness..._
> 
> Brienne steps backwards as Baron Hunt paces forwards, a carefree grin fixed to his face as he approaches her. “Countess Tarth,” he greets her, voice pitched low and smooth much like Renly’s was during those golden days on Tarth. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Prince Renly Baratheon’s fiancée is the talk of King’s Landing, yet it seems no one knows anything about her. You are as lovely as the rumours say, it appears.”
> 
> featuring uncomfortable conversations, untrustworthy men, and all the reasons why Hyle is, quite frankly, a terrible choice for the role of Anatole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no my summary is not a self-drag. it's the truth. it's actually quite funny having him in that role bc he's so bad at it.
> 
> tbh I hate the song Natasha & Anatole in the musical. I'm not sure why, but I do. hopefully, you will like this chapter more. 
> 
> also I don't think jaime even gets mentioned in this chapter, which is a disappointment. but the next chapter's all about him so it's okay, he'll get to speak soon.

_And looking into his eyes  
I am frightened…_

Brienne steps backwards as Baron Hunt paces forwards, a carefree grin fixed to his face as he approaches her. “Countess Tarth,” he greets her, voice pitched low and smooth much like Renly’s was during those golden days on Tarth. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Prince Renly Baratheon’s fiancée is the talk of King’s Landing, yet it seems no one knows anything about her. You are as lovely as the rumours say, it appears.”

He reaches for her hand as he speaks, but she snatches it away. “Do not insult me, Baron Hunt. I know full well what the gossips say about me, and none of it is as flattering as you would make it out to be.”

“Please,” the baron says, catching hold of her arm as she tries to brush past him. “Call me Hyle. I hope we can become dear friends, particularly since I consider Princess Cersei a close companion. It would not do for us to be so formal with each other if we are to be so close.”

She doesn’t like how he’s speaking, as if it’s a certainty that they’ll become friends rather than a hope for the future. But Catelyn and her daughters are still speaking with the Tyrells, and it would be extremely rude to brush the baron off while he attempts to talk to her, so she nods shallowly and stops trying to escape the box. “Of course.”

He smiles broadly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve desired to speak with you for a while now, ever since I attended your betrothal ball on Tarth several months back. It seems I’m not alone in wanting such a thing, unfortunately, which is why I have only approached you now. Everyone in King’s Landing wants to know about the woman who finally persuaded Renly Baratheon to settle down. They all say she must be remarkable indeed to achieve such a task.”

“I am no more remarkable than anyone else,” Brienne replies, her cheeks flushing as he continues to stare at her. “The gossips tend to exaggerate far too much, anyways.”

Baron Hunt smiles again, just as insincere as before. “Ah, yes. The infamous rumour mill of King’s Landing. No one can truly trust what they say, something you seem well aware of. They make such outrageous claims, after all. For instance, the rumour is that Cersei Baratheon is having an affair with Loras Tyrell, when everyone who has met Tyrell knows his tastes run to men rather than women!”

He laughs, seeming entirely unbothered when Brienne doesn’t join in. “But enough of that. Tell me, how did you enjoy the performance tonight? I found it charming, though not so amusing as last week when one of the actors fell off the stage in the middle of his aria. I have to admit that I’ve never been particularly fond of this opera. The plot seems rather contrived, and I’ve never fully understood the ending.”

She lets him ramble on, fully aware he never cared for her opinion on the opera anyways. She’s figured Baron Hunt out by now, knows he’s a man who believes himself far more important and handsome than he actually is. In truth, his looks are generic at best, nothing like Renly’s beauty, and his personality is not much more exciting. Whatever his goal is in speaking to her here, he’s not likely to achieve it through charm.

Perhaps he recognizes that he’s been neglecting her, for he pauses and turns to face her fully. “I would like to become better acquainted with you, Brienne—may I call you Brienne?” He doesn’t wait for her answer—understandably, since she was about to deny him permission to address her so—but barrels on instead. “Princess Cersei has kindly agreed to host a ball two weeks from now, since her brother will be away on business for a while. I would be delighted for you to join us there, in one last expedition before your prince returns and carries you off to Storm’s End.”

“I will consider it.” She doesn’t want to blindly accept his offer, but will he be willing to take no for an answer?

He smiles, looking as delighted as if she’d enthusiastically agreed to attend. “Excellent. I will look forward to seeing you there. It’s about time someone different came to these functions as a counter to all the puffed-up nobility in their fancy clothes and jewels. You seem much more practical than your friends the Starks in that regard.”

“The Starks are a very practical and respected family,” she snaps, folding her arms tightly across her chest. _What would you say if I told you I was as fond of elegant things as all those other nobles you deride, Baron Hunt? Would you be so willing to speak with me then?_ “You are a bold man to accuse them of wasting money on something you dismiss as a frivolity.”

The baron rolls his eyes, placing a hand on Brienne’s upper arm in a gesture far more familiar than he should be using. “I jest, dear countess. You must learn to not take everything so seriously.”

Brienne shrugs his hand off and paces backwards. If Baron Hunt wants something from her, he is doing a remarkably poor job of concealing it. “Do you intend to continue this conversation for much longer, Baron Hunt? I believe Princess Catelyn would like to see us returned to the manor before midnight arrives.”

“Did I not ask you to call me Hyle?”

“You did, Baron Hunt. But I am afraid we are simply not familiar enough for such casual address yet. It was a pleasure speaking with you, but I really must go now.”

She’s not lying, Catelyn is approaching with a sharp glint in her eyes, but the baron frowns at her as if she is. “Off so soon, Brienne? And here I thought we were getting along so well!”

“I really do have to leave,” she tells him, turning away as Catelyn comes to a halt directly outside the box. “I will consider your invitation and respond to it at my earliest convenience. Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Baron Hunt.”

He’s still spluttering behind her as she joins Catelyn, who shoots her a concerned look. “Are you alright, Brienne? It looked like the baron was trying to be a bit too familiar with you there for a moment.”

“He was,” Brienne agrees, “but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. He doesn’t seem to be a particularly intimidating figure, merely an irritating one. How are the Tyrells?”

“They are well,” Catelyn says, wincing a little. “I was hoping that Countess Olenna would be willing to arrange a match between Arya and one of the minor Tyrell cousins, but it seems she is similar to her grandson in her unwillingness to tie her family to a disgraced one.”“You haven’t been disgraced, though,” Brienne says, alarmed by Catelyn’s drastic statement. “Losing your fortune is humiliating, yes, but families have endured worse hardships before and not suffered the burden of a complete disgrace.”

Catelyn shakes her head, a somber expression on her face. “We also lost Winterfell to the invaders. The nobility prize their remote estates extremely highly, and to lose hold of one is on par with breaking a betrothal in favour of wedding someone else.”

 _As Robb did_ goes unsaid between them. Brienne has been taught enough tact to refrain from bringing up the true source of the Stark family’s disgrace, and Catelyn never mentions it unless forced to. The issue of money doesn’t help, but Robb’s failure to keep to his original betrothal is enough to make anyone wary of betrothing their children to the Starks now. Even her father was hesitant, up until Brienne vouched for Sansa’s faithfulness.

“What invitation were you speaking of?” Catelyn asks abruptly as they approach the front entrance, where Sansa and Arya wait for them. “Earlier, when you departed from the baron, you mentioned an invitation you intended to consider.”

“Oh! Yes, that. He invited me to come to a ball Princess Cersei Baratheon is hosting in two weeks. I don’t think I will be accepting his invitation, but I didn’t want to tell him that and risk offending him. I wasn’t fully certain what he would do if I upset him too badly.”

“Always a wise choice,” Catelyn agrees, nodding with all the sage wisdom of a woman who has seen the worst of the world far too many times. “I will freely admit to knowing little about this Baron Hunt, but I have heard he is a frequent gambler and not the sort of man one should loan money to if they wish to have the loan repaid. If I had noticed his interest in you earlier, I would have asked the Tyrells about him, since he’s a noble of the Reach. I’m not certain I fully trust him, not if he’s willing to publicly show that kind of attention to an engaged woman.”

“I don’t trust him either,” Brienne confesses in a low voice, “but there’s not much I can do. I simply hope his interest is only that of a bored noble looking for some entertainment while he does business in the city, and not something more nefarious.”

Catelyn scoffs loudly, drawing the attention of her daughters in their direction as she does. “Please. I don’t believe that man is clever enough to come up with a truly nefarious plot, and certainly not one capable of doing you much harm. It’ll all come to nothing in the end. I assure you of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait I lied. jaime gets mentioned once, and not by name. somehow this doesn't feel like an improvement.
> 
> my apologies to Catelyn Stark for making her say something so foolish at the end of this. but congratulations to brienne for being smart enough to see through Hyle's shit. in the show Natasha's very taken in by Anatole, but I really don't see brienne as being that naive, so this is the first of many deviations from the original plot that this story is going to take. we'll see a lot more of them next chapter. 
> 
> if only hyle could be defeated by brienne ditching him on a balcony to go talk to Catelyn. alas, it shall not be so simple.
> 
> I have no idea when the next chapter's going to be posted. it's done, but uni is very much kicking my ass at present and I make no guarantees about my eagerness to post in the midst of all that. in good news, I am very far ahead in pre-written chapters, so the delay shouldn't be too long unless I have a complete emotional breakdown between now and whenever I post next week. 
> 
> also kudos to me for not posting at 5 am for once!!


	7. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _good evening, Pierre..._
> 
> Jaime’s sitting in the study, staring moodily at a half-written letter to the front, when his sister materializes in the doorway before him with a stern expression on her face.
> 
> featuring an unwelcome outing, far too much alcohol, some very poor decisions on jaime's part, and a near-disaster only averted by sheer dumb luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! jaime's back! it only took six chapters to get him here again!
> 
> please please PLEASE heed the warnings on this chapter. there's some mild gun violence, thoughts of suicide, and what I consider to be a suicide attempt (though it's very passive so some people might view it differently). if you don't want to read that part, I'd stop reading at the point where jaime tells Loras to shut up, and I'll provide a summary in the end notes jic. seriously, please heed these warnings. I don't want anyone reading this without being aware of what happens in this chapter.
> 
> also be aware that Loras says some rather unkind things about brienne in this chapter. his reasons why are pretty understandable, but that doesn't really excuse what he says about her.
> 
> this may be the longest chapter of the fic so far, to make up for jaime being gone for so long. it also unfortunately lacks a rave in the middle, which happens in the show. but this is a written medium, and I can't put a rave into words very easily. so you're stuck with this instead.
> 
> anyone familiar with great comet will note that I changed the reason why the duel happens, since jaime and Cersei aren't having an affair in this verse. this will not be the last change I make from great comet, so be aware of that as well.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), if you'd like to hear me talk about great comet some more. enjoy, and please take care when reading this one!

_Drink with me, my love  
For there’s fire in the sky…_

Jaime’s sitting in the study, staring moodily at a half-written letter to the front, when his sister materializes in the doorway before him with a stern expression on her face.

“Come down,” she tells him in the tone that means anything other than total compliance is unacceptable. “We have visitors, and I have no desire to entertain them alone.”

He doesn’t protest—he knows better than that by now—and rises to follow her down to the front parlour, where Loras Tyrell and Hyle Hunt are standing chatting quietly. Both men turn to Cersei first, allowing him time to compose his features into something resembling a friendly expression before they greet him.

“Count Tyrell! Baron Hunt! What brings you to come visit me at this hour?”

Hunt smiles in what Jaime presumes is an attempt to be open and inviting. In actuality, he looks as if he’s trying to bite back a grimace, as is per usual on the rare occasions he and Jaime have encountered each other. “We were hoping to persuade you and your sister to join us at the club for the remainder of the night. Loras was telling me of his desire to reminisce on the war with someone, and we’re both quite sick of having only each other for company these last few nights.”

His initial instinct is to refuse their offer, as he’s done ever since he returned from the front. Heading to the club to spar with young Arya Stark and her friends is one thing, since he knows they will not mock him for his missing hand or his reluctance to spend evening after evening in a drunken stupor. If he agrees to go with them, he’ll be inviting exposure to all sorts of humiliation and mischief, the sort he lost interest in even before the war, in his time serving the former emperor.

“I’ve already agreed to accompany them,” Cersei, the traitor, says sweetly, slinging her arm through Tyrell’s as she does. “Please, Jaime. You can’t stay holed up in the house forever.”

She’s right, _damn her_. And he honestly doesn’t relish the idea of another dull evening on his own, sitting in the study trying to live up to the man he was before the war began. “I will come.”

“Excellent!” Hunt cries, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “This will be a marvellous adventure for all of us, I believe.”

Tyrell rolls his eyes but says nothing, well accustomed to Hunt’s ways by now. Cersei, hanging off his arm, smiles at the baron, all sweetness and charm that Jaime’s well aware she’s faking.

“Shall we depart, then?” she says, tugging Tyrell towards the door. “Peck won’t hold the carriage for us forever, not while my sweet brother is so lenient with him.”

Jaime glares at his sister, snatching a coat out of the hall closet as he tails her and Tyrell into the foyer. “You gripe about my lenience with the servants, yet you also complain about your husband constantly driving your maids away with his crude manner. Tell me, Cersei, does anything ever satisfy you?”

She tosses her head at him before taking a cloak from Tyrell and striding out the door, forcing the three men to trail in her wake. “All I’m saying, Jaime, is that you should have a heavier hand with them every once in a while. Your kindness with your inferiors will be your ruin someday, just as it was the ruin of the Starks.”

“Empathy wasn’t what ruined the Starks,” Tyrell points out. “Robb Stark’s foolishness caused that, as well as the destruction of Winterfell and the loss of their fortune.”

Cersei tosses her hair again as the four of them step into the carriage, which quickly trundles away from the front entrance of Jaime’s manor. “Semantics. Either way, they’ve been disgraced and are forced to wed their daughters to minor counts in order to win back some respectability.”

“The Tarths are a highly respectable family,” Jaime hisses, ignoring Tyrell’s low laugh, “and you know full well Galladon is a friend of mine. A match in one of the oldest noble families in Westeros not connected to the Great Houses is a fine one indeed for a daughter of a house in ruin.”

“What of the other Tarth child?” Hunt asks, leaning forward with a keen glint in his eyes. “The one betrothed to Renly Baratheon? I met her at the opera the other night, though I don’t believe she was very eager to become acquainted with me.”

A dark look passes over Tyrell’s face, twisting his pretty features into something rather hideous. “That ugly bitch? Don’t bother trying to befriend her. How she managed to entertain Ren—Prince Renly long enough to capture his interest is beyond me. She’s as dull as Stannis Baratheon used to be before he discovered anger was an emotion.”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Tyrell,” Jaime says, rather amused by the younger man’s possessive anger regarding his lover’s betrothal. “Countess Brienne is a charming woman once you get to know her, and her eyes are positively lovely. Renly will be lucky to have her as a bride, even if he never loves her the way he should.”

“Now you’re the one who sounds jealous,” Cersei scoffs. “You’re a fool if you think the Tarth girl is worth the trouble. You and Hyle both.”

 _Hunt? Why would he be interested in Brienne Tarth?_ Hunt’s always been more for pretty, wealthy women who he thinks can help him settle his many debts. Brienne Tarth doesn’t seem his type—besides the wealthy part, of course. 

“She can’t possibly be that difficult to win over,” Hunt says with a cold smirk. “No one with any sense truly believes that marriage will go through in the end. It’s merely a matter of convincing her of the fact before her beloved fiancé returns from the front—if he returns at all.”

“He’ll return,” Tyrell snarls, his shoulders going rigid. “He won’t marry the countess, but he’ll return.”

“You’re both too confident on that matter,” Cersei says dryly, studying her nails. “My dear goodbrother knows the importance of keeping appearances, and that includes marrying a suitable woman to hide the fact that he’s carrying on with another man on the side. It’ll break the poor girl’s heart when she learns the true reason he’s marrying her, but it won’t stop him from doing so.”

Jaime shakes his head as the carriage rolls to a halt outside of the club’s entrance. “Maybe he’ll wed her, maybe he won’t. I’m simply baffled by our dear Baron Hunt’s belief that he’ll convince such an honourable girl to break a betrothal with the man she loves. If you knew anything about Brienne Tarth, then you’d know she keeps her promises. Besides, how would your wife react if she knew you were thinking of having an affair with another woman?”

Hunt waves a hand to brush the concern aside as he steps out of the carriage and offers a hand to Cersei. “I’ll take the girl to Dorne and wed her there. No one will know us there, and that way no one else in Westeros will need to know the truth.”

Jaime laughs loudly at that, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “And what of the Martells, hmm? A family with such close connections to the emperor will know a great deal about every noble in Westeros even if they’re not of Dorne. And while Dorne may be known for its leniency on many matters, even the Dornish will not turn a blind eye to the kidnapping of a young woman by an already married man.”

“Pentos, then.” Hunt looks far too unconcerned by the potential consequences of his actions as they walk into the club, instead choosing to immediately grab a drink from a passing server. “It doesn’t truly matter to me where we go, as long as I’m able to win some of her wealth in the process.”

“You’re an ass, Hunt.” Jaime sighs heavily and signals to the next sever who passes their gathering to bring them a round of drinks. “I pray to the gods the countess is sensible enough to stay away from you until you’ve given up on this foolishness.”

Cersei rolls her eyes, grabbing hold of Jaime’s arm and digging her nails in for a moment. “Let the man have his fun, brother. You cannot continue to be so dreary and sensible about everything.”

“We are at _war_ ,” he snaps, lifting the stump where his right hand once was and watching with vindictive pleasure when she flinches backwards. “You may be able to forget that, as sheltered in the capital as you are, but _I was there_. I cannot forget what I saw, what befell me there on the front, and I am telling you now that we need to be sensible above anything else at present.”

Hunt laughs at him, shrugging the matter off in the way only a man who evaded the conflict by feigning an injury could. “The war’s far away, Lannister. Lighten up a little and enjoy yourself for once.”

Jaime exchanges a look with Tyrell, who simply shakes his head and glances down at the table. Neither of their companions understand, not really. They believe themselves safe behind the walls of King’s Landing, far removed from the horrors on the front and the terrible reality that Westeros is losing the war, slowly but surely being driven back by the invaders marching deeper and deeper into their country. They have not seen the truth, not the way the soldiers and the smallfolk have.

“Enough of this,” Tyrell says eventually, and they let the matter drop. “We’re here to forget for a night, not to bicker about the war until dawn comes.”

The server appears and deposits their drinks on the table before vanishing back into the press of people filling the club. Hunt is the first to lift his glass, raising it in a half-mocking toast before draining it in a single gulp as everyone else begins to drink as well. 

The alcohol burns the back of Jaime’s throat as he swallows, a pleasant warmth that begins to spread throughout the rest of his body as they order another round, and another, and another, and another. The noise and lights of the club begin to swirl and blend together around him, a   
pleasant buzz that has him wondering why he doesn’t do this more often. He hasn’t felt this good since long before he went to war, back when he had just begun his service to Aerys and believed himself the gods’s gift to the world.

He’d originally planned to stop after two, maybe three rounds, but Hunt keeps ordering more, and Cersei keeps egging him on, and soon he’s forgotten his earlier resolution to avoid getting too drunk as the liquor flows into his veins and sets his senses ablaze, as the crowd whirls around him and the lights flare in and out and his tablemates shout and laugh and drink and the night begins to bleed into the earliest hours of the morning. It’s easy to get lost in a haze of drink, but he has no desire to escape the pleasant warmth it offers him.

 _You didn’t used to be like this_ , the lone sensible voice in his head hisses, sounding far too much like his father. _You used to be a great man, with skill and wealth and a promising future ahead of you. Now all you have is the wealth, having lost both skill and future with your right hand. No one will love you like this. No one wants a broken man past his prime with nothing but money to offer._

“Do shut up, Father,” he mutters, possibly thinks though he can’t be certain anymore. No one glances in his direction, meaning he probably kept the words to himself. He _hopes_ he kept the words to himself, at any rate. Tyrell and Hunt don’t need to know about his familial difficulties of the past.

Cersei drops another glass in front of him, jarring him out of his own mind. “Another round, dear brother?” she asks, something snide in her voice catching his attention. “Since you seem inclined to drink yourself into a stupor tonight.”

He tries to glare at her, though he doubts it’s convincing. “Enough, sister. You do the same most nights, and I do not complain about your drunkenness then.”

Hunt snickers, drunk enough to not be cowed by the fierce glare Cersei sends in his direction. “He has a point, you know. For someone who hates her husband so much, you do an excellent impression of his drinking habits.”

“Do not speak to me of my husband,” she snarls at him, and this time he does have the sense to flinch back. “You know nothing of my life, of what I have had to endure while living with that fucking man. By the gods, you’re as awful as Stannis some days.”

Hunt mutters a half-hearted apology as Tyrell leans forward, a keen glint in his eyes as he turns to look at Jaime. “Tell me, Lannister. How are you enjoying retirement? Do you miss the excitement of the front, the battle-frenzy rushing in your veins?”

This time, Jaime’s able to muster up an actual glare, even if it’s still not enough to dissuade Tyrell from his line of questioning. “Do you have a point, or are you simply trying to lord your lack of injury over me?”

Tyrell smiles, smug and serene, and Jaime has never wanted to punch him more than in this moment. “Oh, I would never do such a thing. I simply wanted to know if you were doing alright, since it cannot be easy for a man who has lost so much to endure losing a hand on top of everything else.”“What are you playing at?”

Cersei and Hunt both fall silent, their heads swivelling back and forth as Tyrell continues to taunt Jaime. “Well, you lost your position guarding the Mad Emperor, the one you let die. Then you lost your father, they your hand, and now you’re likely to lose the war as well. Tell me, Lannister, how does it feel to be unable to keep ahold of anything in your life? Do you intend to go the way of the Starks and throw away your fortune as well?”

“Shut up,” Jaime says quietly, his voice steady and low. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cersei blanch.

“Loras,” she says, soft yet firm, “it may be time to stop.”

Tyrell laughs, shrugging her concern aside. “What? Should I really be afraid of a one-handed man who lost all his skill when that cannon blew his hand off? There’s nothing to be afraid of, only sad, small Jaime Lannister, trying to relive his glory days. Yet he seems to have forgotten that those days are over, that he’s nothing now. That he’s nothing without that hand.”

“Shut up!” Jaime roars, and everyone around them falls silent as well. The whirlwind of the club comes to a standstill as the gathered revellers slowly turn to look at the two men facing off across the table, rows and rows of empty glasses between them.

Tyrell smiles once again, a cold smirk he must have learned from his grandmother. “Why? Are you afraid to hear the ugly truth, Lannister? Afraid to confront the reality that you will never live up to your father’s expectations and your own dreams?”

He’s still smirking when Jaime leaps to his feet and sends the table between them toppling to the ground with a bang. The glasses atop it crash to the floor and shatter into thousands of tiny shards, and someone deep in the press of the crowd screams.

“Enough,” he growls, and finally, _finally_ , Tyrell’s smirk fades. “If you want to insult me so, you can match your words with your guns.”

 _That was a mistake_ , his rational voice hisses, but he ignores it in favour of meeting Tyrell’s far-too smug gaze as the other man smiles slowly in response. “A duel, then? Excellent. I look forward to seeing you fail, Lannister.”

Cersei rushes forwards, grabbing hold of Jaime’s arm as he spins away to snatch a gun from a trembling bystander. “Jaime, don’t do this. He’ll kill you, and who will protect me then?”

“Find another protector,” he tells his sister, pulling away from her hand. “I am tired of constantly bending over backwards to accommodate you.”

He is, truly. She asks so much of him every time she comes to stay with him rather than her husband, and while he does not begrudge her the escape she desperately needs he cannot afford to adhere to her every little whim any longer. He should have made this stand long ago, though he does not regret doing so now that his death at Loras Tyrell’s hands is imminent.

She’s correct, of course, and Tyrell _will_ kill him if this duel plays out correctly. But is that really so terrible, to rid the world of another useless noble with nothing to do but sit in the study and attempt to write letters he’ll never send? He has no reason to live any longer, no more purpose like he did when on the front. Yes, he would like to have known love, but no one will love him now, not when he’s lost everything that made him worthy of love.

Hunt pulls Cersei back by the arm, shaking his head. “Don’t bother. They’re not going to stop no matter what we do, and I have no desire to get in the middle of _this_ particular fight.”

“Coward,” she spits at him, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “I’m sure this will win over the countess, hearing you let a man die because you couldn’t be bothered to interfere in a duel that didn’t impact you. Have you ever done anything that was not intended to benefit you?”

 _Have_ you, _sister?_ He won’t say that aloud, but he’s been thinking it for some time now. If he stood a chance of surviving this, he’d consider telling her someday.

“Duram,” Tyrell says, turning to a man Jaime vaguely recognizes as Hunt’s driver. “You’ll make sure this is carried out properly, alright? I hope to be finished before the sun rises.”

There’s a pause there, one Jaime would have filled once with a witty retort, a biting comment. Now, however, he remains silent, and it clearly throws Tyrell off for he takes a quick step backwards, something almost like fear flashing in his eyes.

The driver steps forwards and holds up a hand as Jaime and Tyrell assume their positions on the far sides of the room. The gathered crowd scatters to the back walls of the club, wide eyes watching the duel play out and money quickly changing hands in several shadowy corners.

“Since neither of our combatants wishes to reconcile,” the driver announces, his voice ringing and echoing in the silent room, “the duel will now proceed. Ready your guns, and you may begin your advance on three.”

He pauses and breathes in deeply once, twice, before straightening his spine and saying, “One.”

In the moment between words, Jaime’s world narrows, his focus zeroing in on the barrel of his gun and his opponent across the room. He’s a terrible shot with his left hand, and Loras Tyrell is renowned across Westeros for his skill with a gun, but the instincts are still there, buried beneath the anger and the grief and the bitterness he’s been harbouring in the months since his return from the front with a shiny new medal to replace his right hand. He still knows how to aim, how to judge his opponent’s next move. He can still win this—even if he desperately wishes to lose.

“Two.”

Across the room, Tyrell smiles, the smirk crossing his face in half-time as the world slows down around them both. The rustling whispers within the crowd fade away, until nothing is left but the sound of his lungs in his chest, his heart pounding loud and steady in his ears. 

“Three.”

As the driver’s hand drops, both men spring into motion, stalking forward with their guns slowly rising from a rest position to point directly at each other’s chests. In the background, Hunt is shouting something, telling Jaime to hold his fire or to shoot now or _something_ , but he ignores the man and continues walking forward, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Tyrell will shoot soon enough, and then it will all be over, for better or for worse.

He stumbles abruptly, the drink catching up with him, and his finger slips as he pitches forward and attempts to right himself, squeezing on the trigger just a little too hard…

The bang of his gun is deafening, as is Tyrell’s roar of pain a moment later. “Shit,” he breathes, his gun falling from his hand as he stares blankly at the blood now covering his opponent’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean…I wasn’t going to…”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Tyrell hisses, one hand moving to cover the wound on his shoulder as his gun rises to point at Jaime once again. “It’s my turn now.”

 _No, it’s my turn._

He raises his hands until they’re up at his shoulders and closes his eyes, waiting for the bullet to strike him and for the whole affair to end. Soon, so soon…

“Move aside!” Hunt bellows from the side of the room, his face going red with the effort. “Lannister, you bloody fool, move out of the _fucking way_!”

Jaime shakes his head once, not bothering to look over at the gathered crowd. The same calm he felt during the countdown descends upon him once again, letting him tune out the crowd, Hunt’s words, even the little voice in the back of his mind telling him _don’t, don’t_. All that remains is for Tyrell to pull the trigger. All that remains…

The _bang_ of a shot being fired rings out once again, and Cersei screams from somewhere in the room, but when Jaime opens his eyes he’s still in the same place, still unharmed as he gapes at Tyrell, now bent double and clutching his injured arm while groaning in pain. He turns around slowly and sees a bullet embedded in the wall behind him, the angle too far removed for it to have possibly risked hitting him.

“The sun is rising,” Hunt’s driver says, while several men step out of the crowd to escort Tyrell off to a maester. “The duel is over. It appears Jaime Lannister is our winner for the night after all, everyone.”

“Winner,” Jaime whispers, still staring at the bullet in the wall, the bullet that was meant for him, that was supposed to take his life. Is he relieved, glad he managed to survive despite his own stupidity? Or is he disappointed, mourning his chance to leave the world of the living behind once and for all in order to seek better luck in some other world?

Hunt and Cersei approach him from behind, talking about a ball and invitations and Brienne Tarth, uncaring of the disaster that unfolded or nearly unfolded before them. Life goes on, he supposes, no matter how little he wants it to. Two bullets were fired, and now everyone is moving on, returning to their day-to-day lives without a care for how the events of tonight will impact the future, will impact those involved in it. Already, it is being forgotten. His foolishness dies tonight, even though he still lives.

“Come on,” Hunt says to him, nodding towards the door. “You should go home, rest. Tomorrow will bring clarity and wisdom, and everything will be much better with a little sleep. You look like you could use some.”

Jaime nods mutely and follows them out of the club, unable to focus on their conversation as his mind swirls about, rerunning the events of the night again and again until he could recite them by memory and explain exactly where he went wrong, exactly why nothing worked the way he had intended it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you skipped the duel: jaime challenges Loras to a duel over his words. he argues with Cersei, who doesn't want him to duel Loras, but he ignores her and pushes on with it despite knowing Loras is a better shot and he'll likely die. he privately makes peace with his inevitable death and, as the duel begins, walks forward waiting for Loras to shoot him. he stumbles and sets off his own gun, shooting Loras in the side. Loras retaliates but misses due to the pain from his injury, meaning jaime wins the duel. Loras is escorted away, and Cersei and hyle escort a dazed and confused jaime back home.
> 
> I can't make any guarantees about when the next chapter will come out, but I actually have time off this week (!) so it might be fairly soon...


	8. Dust And Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _is this how I die?_
> 
> Jaime doesn’t know how he made it back home, nor how he made his way upstairs to the study. He only becomes aware of himself as he reaches for a glass—to fill it with what? He’s not sure—and it slips out of his hand and shatters on the floor, tiny shards scattering every which way. 
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a major existential crisis, a few realizations on jaime's part, and the main reason I wanted to write this fic to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. this chapter is why this fic exists. dust and ashes is SUCH a jaime song, and I'm delighted to finally be posting this one after waiting for so long. it's basically a prolonged existential crisis, but that's what makes it good.
> 
> I might start posting more often after this? I actually have most of the rest of this one written, and I want to get it done before nano begins, but we'll see. in all likelihood, I will continue to be as inconsistent as I have been previously, but it'll just be happening more often.
> 
> come find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), and enjoy!

_Is this how I die?  
Pretending and preposterous…_

Jaime doesn’t know how he made it back home, nor how he made his way upstairs to the study. He only becomes aware of himself as he reaches for a glass—to fill it with what? He’s not sure—and it slips out of his hand and shatters on the floor, tiny shards scattering every which way. 

He should pick up the pieces, or call for Peck to come clean it up, but instead he stands and stares at the mess, numb and frozen. His ears ring, perhaps from the gunshots earlier or perhaps from the sounds echoing in his mind: the sickening sound of a bullet hitting Aerys Targaryen directly in the chest, his own scream when the cannonshot struck his hand, the bang of Loras Tyrell’s gun…

“What have I done?” he whispers, lifting his arms to stare at his remaining hand and the stump where the other used to be. “Oh gods, what have I done?”

He hasn’t been this reckless since the first years after Aerys, when he took any opportunity he could to test the limits of his own mortality. Now, in reverting to his old habits, he’s put another man’s life at risk. Tyrell wasn’t terribly wounded, but the war has demonstrated many, many times how quickly infection can set in. If Tyrell dies, it’ll be on Jaime.

He should never have accepted the invitation, should have stayed at home and finished his letters, written to his friends on the front rather than going out with Cersei’s friends and getting far drunker than he ever planned to. He’s never been one to drink a great deal. Tonight’s events have proven to him that he should continue to avoid alcohol. Clearly, it makes him dangerously foolish.

Why had he decided to duel Loras? What had possessed him to make him do something so stupid? He doesn’t want to die like that, a bullet in the head or the side, bleeding out on the floor of the club because he survived a horrific injury to his right hand that would have killed a weaker man. In truth, he doesn’t think he really wants to die at all. It’s simply more convenient, easier than living with the pain and the memories and his sister lurking around the corner at all hours because she can’t be bothered to go deal with her own problems.

How would he be remembered, if he had died tonight at Loras Tyrell’s hands? Would he be mourned, widely celebrated by those he was close to in life? Would his friends and family gather together and tell heartfelt stories with tears in their eyes as they watched his body be returned to Casterly Rock for burial?

Or would they not care, not when the reports from the front name more dead or lost Westerosi soldiers with every passing day? Would his friends from school, Addam Marbrand and Galladon Tarth and all the rest, would they be able to return from the front to see him buried, or would they go to their fiancées instead, seeking comfort rather than mourning a foolish friend who brought his own death upon himself? Would his sister mourn him, or would she mourn the loss of her excuse to avoid her husband whenever they came into the capital? Does he truly mean anything to the people he cares for so greatly?

And if he had died, what would his regrets be? Would he regret not dying in glory on the battlefield like he’d planned to, or would he regret not living a long life to pass away of old age, comfortable and complacent?

“I would regret not knowing love,” he says aloud, the true answer to the question of regrets. He’s had a few flings with noble ladies and fellow soldiers alike, but none have truly satisfied him, have fulfilled his desire for affection, for someone who will care for him as much as he does for them. 

Once, when he was on a visit to Dorne before the war began, he heard someone claim that humans were not truly alive until they felt love, true, reciprocated love of any form. They spent their lives wandering about in a daze, unable to see clearly until their eyes were opened by that which they loved most. 

Is that how he’s been living, then? Has he simply been wandering about in that sleepy daze, unable to truly live because he has never had his love fully reciprocated?

He’s loved before, of course. He loves his sister, and his father before he died, and his friends and his fellow soldiers and some of his long-lasting servants, namely Pia and Peck, who have been with him for years now. But none of them truly love him in return, at least not in the same way he loves them. And romantic love, the true love of stories and songs, he’s never had that, despite having longed to ever since he was old enough to understand what it was.

But he’ll never experience that now. He’s an aging man, past his prime, with a missing hand and nothing to offer anyone but wealth and comfort. And those two things alone have never been enough to woo someone, not even in the most pragmatic of stories.

He won’t marry for anything but love, either. His father is dead, meaning no one is around to arrange his marriage, and Cersei is too preoccupied with her own affairs to waste her time trying to matchmake for him. Addam and Gal have tried, a few times, but it’s never succeeded. It seems he’s doomed to remain a bachelor until his death.

A death he’s just tried to bring about in the most untimely of manners.

He’s a fool, exactly as his father always said. Cersei was the one to inherit the wits and the charm, the one gifted their father’s shrewdness and keen gaze. He was stuck with a pretty face and nothing behind it, allowing him to end up in situations like this far more often than a full-grown man and Prince of Westeros should.

But he’s so _tired_ of living this half-life, where he does his best to please those around him while never taking anything for himself. Has he not earned the right for a little happiness, a brief chance at love before the war inevitably arrives in King’s Landing and destroys everything they’ve tried to build? Perhaps he could be happy, if he tried, or if the right person came along to aid his way out of the darkness he’s found himself a part of.

No, that’s not right. He cannot rely on anyone else to escape this trap. He must do it for himself, for the possibility of that joyful future with a manor filled with laughter and love and warmth rather than drafty halls and Cersei’s sharp tongue and his own moping from room to room in search of an answer no book could teach him. The stories may show the hero being saved from their own darkness by a kind-hearted lover with a too-good heart, but real life is not like the stories. Relying too much on others is how love dies.

He’ll have to find the answer to his unspoken question within himself, not within a book or within some other person’s pure soul. No one else can save him from himself. Only him.

He doesn’t want to die like this, bitter and maimed and rueing the things he didn’t do, the loves he never had. He’d much prefer that future he imagined for himself earlier, with a family he can have around him when he works in the study or goes out to wander King’s Landing or the gardens of Casterly Rock, a lover he can stand by the seashore with and watch the sun rise, golden light over blue water. He’d like to die old and happy, surrounded by those he loves as he drifts off one more time, passing away in his sleep with a smile on his lips and joy in his heart.

This life that he’s living now, it’s dismal and sad. It’s no wonder he wants to die, since he has absolutely nothing to live for. 

He’s slumbered for far too long, his eyes shut tightly to block out the world around him and the bitter truth of his loneliness and desire to be loved. It’s high time he woke up, began to live rather than go through the motions day after day after day. Perhaps no one will ever love such a broken man as him, but he can hope, can’t he? 

He’s still alive, after all. He hasn’t yet squandered his chance to find love, his chance to move past his stagnant, miserable life and begin to live for something. He doesn’t have to spend each day wondering why he’s doing this, why he’s still alive when so many of his friends re suffering and dying on the front. 

Duelling Loras Tyrell was a terrible mistake, one he’ll rue for the remainder of his life. But it can be more than another poor decision, another reckless choice he bitterly regrets the morning after. The duel can be his second chance, the key that inspires him to live again in the way he hasn’t since Aerys Targaryen died. 

After all, he has everything to gain and nothing to lose. Isn’t it time he decided to claim his space in this strange world they’re now living in?

He nods once, firm and swift, before moving to the door and calling for Peck to come clean the shattered glass on the floor of his study. Yes, it's time. He cannot continue like this any longer, not if he wants to enjoy his life. Their world is about to change, either at the hands of the invaders or in the wake of them. It’s high time he changed as well, high time that he finally moved past the hurts of his youth and became the man he always wished to become but was too afraid to attempt to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now that jaime's figured a few things out, it's time for him to disappear for the remainder of this fic (I'm joking but it's gonna be a while before he gets another pov. he will be haunting the narrative much more than he has been previously, though. there is that.)
> 
> it's been so long since I wrote this one that I forgot how much I love it. time to fling it out into the world and instantly start doubting myself, I suppose. that's usually how it works with these things.


	9. Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _early Sunday morning..._
> 
> Early one morning, before Catelyn summons them to go to service at the sept, Sansa drags Brienne into her room to take part in some Northern tradition that she explains too breathlessly for Brienne to understand. Arya is off elsewhere in the manor jesting with Pod and the other servants, meaning no one is able to provide Brienne an excuse to avoid Sansa’s demands. 
> 
> *
> 
> featuring northern traditions, a bunch of foreshadowing, a considerable amount of confusion for the poor characters, and an unexpected visitor to the Stark manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's foreshadowing hours, folks! 
> 
> the candle in the mirror tradition of this chapter is lifted straight from great comet. it's not an actual northern tradition as far as I know, though I also know jack shit about the north so it could be. where it comes from is much less important than what it does, however, so we'll not be too bothered about that. or at least I won't. I can't exactly make guarantees for the readers here.
> 
> yes, this is the third thing I've posted today. don't get too excited, I don't plan on doing this often. but I've been awake since 2am, and I don't always make the best life choices when I've been awake for close to 15 hours already.
> 
> this is, quite probably, the last chapter for a good long while that follows the great comet plot almost exactly. everything else has gone off the rails. I blame brienne. ( I would blame jaime but he doesn't seem to be doing much rn so it's actually not his fault for once I suppose).
> 
> find me on Tumblr as 

_In the dim confused last square  
You’ll see a coffin or a man…_

Early one morning, before Catelyn summons them to go to service at the sept, Sansa drags Brienne into her room to take part in some Northern tradition that she explains too breathlessly for Brienne to understand. Arya is off elsewhere in the manor jesting with Pod and the other servants, meaning no one is able to provide Brienne an excuse to avoid Sansa’s demands. 

“It’s not that bad,” Sansa tells her once they’re standing in front of her full-length mirror. “All you have to do is light a candle and look into the mirror, and the old gods will show you your future. If you see a tomb, your death is imminent. If you see a man, your lover will be with you soon, and you will know happiness for a long time.” She pauses, before muttering under her breath, “Everyone sees a man.”

“You’ve done this before?” Brienne asks, still wary. It’s a tamer tradition than she’d expected, but she’s known the Starks long enough to be aware that most Northern traditions have a strange twist to them one can’t always expect. “What did you see?”

Sansa nods, pushing an unlit candle into her hands. “I have, but I can’t tell you what I saw. If you tell anyone, then the opposite of what you see comes true. It’s not a myth, either. Father wrote in his journal about the last time he did it, shortly before he died, and he said that the mirror predicted his death by showing him his own tomb in Winterfell. Try it, Brienne. It can’t do you any harm.”

Brienne sighs and lights the candle, turning to gaze into the mirror as Sansa steps back out of her line of sight. For a minute, nothing happens, and she’s merely staring at her own reflection. 

“Nothing’s happening,” she tells Sansa, who shushes her.

“Wait,” she responds, suddenly sounding a thousand years old. “Watch. It will come.”

Brienne faces the mirror once again, but still sees nothing. Then the candle sputters in her hands, as if a gust of wind had swept through the room. But there’s no draft, and the fire in the hearth is unaffected, still burning merrily as if nothing had happened.

In the depths of the mirror, shapes form, a handsome man with laughing eyes and a kind smile emerging from the shadows with a hand extended. _Renly_. Of course. He’ll be coming back soon to marry her and sweep her off to Storm’s End, and they’ll be happy. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. 

Her shoulders slump in relief, and she’s about to turn away when another figure emerges from the smoky shadows, plain and smiling in a false way that doesn’t meet his eyes. _Baron Hunt_ , from the opera. Why would he be here, though? Renly’s going to return from the front before anything can happen with the baron, and he _knows_ she’s engaged to another man. The mirror must be making an error, she decides. That’s all it is. Renly will return for her. He _will_.

Both Renly and the baron turn away from her, vanishing back into the smoke and shade as the candle flickers again, burnt low in the time she’s spent staring. She should step back, turn away, but she can’t escape a niggling feeling that there’s something more, another part to this vision that she has yet to see. 

She’s not wrong. A light gleams from the back of the mirror and a third figure steps forward, still wreathed in shadow. The light catches on his hair, making it shine like the golden gilt edge of the mirror, and as he reaches his arms towards her she sees he only has one hand. Most of his features are too difficult to discern, but she can see he’s smiling at her, warm and happy and loving in a way even Renly never was. 

She knows this man, somehow. She can’t yet place him, but if the mirror shows him for just a moment longer…

The candle sputters one more time and goes out, the vision vanishing with the flame. She curses, sharp and loud, and Sansa jumps next to her.

“It worked, then?” her friend says eagerly, clapping her hands together. “You saw something?”

“I did,” Brienne says as if in a trance, still staring at the mirror as if it will show her the man once more so she can determine where she knows him from. “I don’t understand it, but I saw.”

“You don’t need to understand, not yet,” Sansa tells her, waving a hand. “I still don’t understand what I saw. Also, I lied earlier when I told you not to tell. I just wanted to make sure you’d do it.”

Brienne smiles, unable to be angry when Sansa’s so eager about the whole matter. “Alright, but I’ll only tell you what I saw if you do the same for me. It’s not fair if I’m the only one revealing such truths.”

Sansa nods quickly, her blue eyes flashing with delight. “It was so strange. I saw a man, who I think might have been your brother, but then there was a woman who I danced with while he danced with another man? And I saw my brothers returning, except our cousin Jon was standing where Robb should have been, and Bran was sitting in a tree for some reason. The candle went out after that, and I was so angry. I wanted to know more. Arya was like that too, when she first tried it.”

“Do you know what Arya saw?” Brienne asks, unsure if she’s genuinely curious or merely stalling before revealing her own vision. “Or did she not tell you?”

“Oh, Arya told. She said she saw herself dancing with a man dressed in a blacksmith’s garb, and that Bran was sitting among the ruins of Winterfell while I danced with a woman and _you_ danced with Jaime Lannister.”

“Why would I be dancing with Prince Jaime?” Brienne asks, frowning. “Sure, he’s Galladon’s friend from school and the war, but he’s always thought of me as Gal’s little sister rather than someone to dance with.”

Sansa shrugs, looking as confused as Brienne is. “The visions aren’t supposed to be clear, I suppose. Mother said she tried it once and saw herself standing in the crypts of Winterfell staring at Father’s and Robb’s tombs, which is why she’s never done it again. But you haven’t told me what you saw yet.”

“I saw three men,” Brienne admits slowly, measuring her words carefully as she considers the vision. “One was Renly, about to dance with me, but then Baron Hunt appeared.”

Sansa gasps, one hand rising to cover her mouth. “No. That doesn’t make any sense! Why would he have reason to be there when you’ve only met him once?”

“I wondered the same thing,” she confesses, “though that’s not even the strangest part. They both left, and then the third man came. I don’t know who he was, though I’m certain I know him, but he was reaching out to me before the candle went out. He only had one hand, I believe. I don’t know any one-handed men though.”

“You know Prince Jaime,” Sansa says, and Brienne’s gaze snaps to her. “Did you not know? He lost his hand in the war when a cannon took it off. It’s why he’s returned from the front. It happened shortly before Galladon left, which I presume is why he didn’t tell you.”

“It must be,” Brienne murmurs, staring down at her own two hands. “Poor Jaime! It must be awful to lose a hand, especially in such a terrible manner. No wonder his sister said he didn’t want to come to the opera.”

She wonders at the significance of Jaime Lannister’s lost hand, though. Arya’s vision had Brienne dancing with him, and the man in her own vision only had one hand. And then there’s the matter Pod brought up the other day when she returned from the Baratheon manor, of how Jaime had threatened to duel Ronnet Connington for insulting her…

 _It means nothing_ , she tells herself firmly. She’ll marry Renly once he returns. Baron Hunt and Jaime Lannister have nothing to do with her future beyond Jaime’s friendship with Galladon. Her vision was incorrect. It had to have been.

She’s saved from having to think any more about it by Catelyn shouting for them from downstairs, telling them that they must leave for the service or else they’ll be late.

***

Arya vanishes again as soon as they return from the sept, having said before they left that she wanted to go to the club that afternoon. Sansa departs as well, due to have tea with the Tyrells in an attempt to earn a betrothal between the two families for one of her siblings. Catelyn, meanwhile, places a firm hand on Brienne’s arm and tells her she’ll have to spend the afternoon alone. 

“I must go visit the Baratheons,” she explains. Brienne had told her about the disastrous tea there after speaking with Pod about it, and Catelyn has been raging silently at Stannis Baratheon ever since. “Prince Stannis had no excuse to treat you so poorly, and as for Robert…” She shudders at whatever thought she didn’t voice there, instead patting Brienne on the arm one more time. “At any rate, things cannot continue to be so cold between you and your fiancé’s family. Hopefully I won’t be too long, and Pod is always here if you need anything.”

So Brienne is left alone in the manor, though she doesn’t mind too much. She enjoys the quiet as much as she enjoys the chatter of the Stark women, and is not at all upset by the prospect of an afternoon spent reading in the parlour. 

Baron Hunt’s ball is tonight, if she recalls correctly, though she has no plans to attend. After her strange vision that morning, she’s decided it’s for the best anyways. The baron makes her uncomfortable, as do his false smiles and stilted words. Why should she go to his ball and give him more chances to bother her so?

She’s just settled into a chair, her book open on her lap, when the front door swings open and Cersei Baratheon strides in, perfectly coiffed and elegant in red silk. She scans the entrance of the manor for a moment with glittering green eyes, before he gaze falls on Brienne and she smiles, sharp and glittering and dangerous.

“Countess Tarth,” she purrs in a voice smooth as silk and acid-sharp all at once. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I would say I’ve heard all about you, but I’m afraid my goodbrother is not especially forthcoming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday I will write a fic where jaime actually does things consistently throughout the entire story. today is apparently not this day. I doubt tomorrow will be, either. he actually shows up more than two times in this chapter, though! that's an improvement, is it not! I'm going to take it as one!
> 
> there's really no need for Cersei's entrance to be Like That, but it's cersei. she can't help but be dramatic. it's a part of who she is, and her greatest similarity to jaime. 
> 
> next chapter will be out sooner rather than later, although when sooner or later may be is a hot topic of debate between me and myself. it's probably going to depend on how my midterm on Saturday plays out, tbh. or on if I actually finish writing this one soon, which may actually happen...


	10. Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _oh, my enchantress..._
> 
> Countess Brienne Tarth is no lovelier in the full light of day than she was in the dim lighting of the theatre, Cersei Baratheon decides as she watches the younger woman curl into herself beneath her shrewd gaze. The girl is all mismatched features and ungainly limbs, though her brilliant blue eyes are captivating enough to send jealousy swirling through Cersei’s heart for an instant. It’s no wonder her goodbrother decided to use this particular girl in his ruse. She’s unfortunate enough that any affection from a handsome man would be enough to entirely win her over.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a rude interruption, a rather forceful persuasion, and a few petty cruelties expressed for no easily discernible reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, I need to preface this chapter with an apology for taking the gayest song in this musical and making it boring and heterosexual. charming is _such_ a fun song, and I have not captured any of that with this chapter. next time I'll do better, I promise.
> 
> this chapter brought to you by the fact that I have a midterm later today! because uni doesn't care about the concept of 'free time'! so this is being posted now both because of my arbitrary schedule and also because I am stressed and a bit terrified!
> 
> I can also be found on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat). enjoy, and thank you for reading!

_So you love somebody, charming  
But that’s no reason to shut yourself in…_

Countess Brienne Tarth is no lovelier in the full light of day than she was in the dim lighting of the theatre, Cersei Baratheon decides as she watches the younger woman curl into herself beneath her shrewd gaze. The girl is all mismatched features and ungainly limbs, though her brilliant blue eyes are captivating enough to send jealousy swirling through Cersei’s heart for an instant. It’s no wonder her goodbrother decided to use this particular girl in his ruse. She’s unfortunate enough that any affection from a handsome man would be enough to entirely win her over.

 _This_ is the girl who half of King’s Landing is gossiping about, wondering why Renly Baratheon would wed her and Jaime Lannister would defend her honour to Ronnet Connington? She’s hardly worth a second glance, and that would only be justified if it were to take in the full force of her ugliness. 

She continues to smile at the girl as she awaits a response, rolling her shoulders back to emphasize the full force of her own beauty. Her husband may not appreciate her as he should, but that does not mean this girl cannot recognize the difference between them, the reason she is married and—mostly—content and the young countess will never be wed, despite her current engagement to Renly.

“Princess Cersei,” the countess says at last, her voice hesitant. “What brings you here this lovely afternoon? I am afraid Princess Catelyn and her daughters are not in the house at present, but I am more than willing to host you in their stead.”

 _The Stark women are gone? Excellent._ That will make what she has to do so much easier. “Ah, well. I can always return to visit them later. But I came here for you, dear countess. You see, I am a good friend to Hyle Hunt, and he is wondering why you have yet to respond to his invitation to tonight’s ball.”

The girl winces and looks down at the book on her lap, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “I…I…I was not certain how to respond. You will have to relay my apologies to the baron, both for neglecting to respond and for being unable to attend.”

“Oh no,” Cersei says, waving a hand airily. “That won’t do at all. The ball simply won’t be as enjoyable without you present, and dear Baron Hunt desperately wishes for you to grace us with your presence. You wouldn’t leave a desperate man to suffer alone, would you?”

The countess frowns, and Cersei knows she’s scored a point in their game. “I suppose not. But…”

“None of that.” Cersei steps closer and grabs the girl by the chin, forcing her to tilt her head up so she can better study her face. “Your lovely hostesses will be away this evening as well, and they cannot stop you from going out and enjoying yourself for a while.”

Countess Tarth moves her hand as if to push Cersei away, but she catches the hand before the girl has a chance to do anything. “My betrothed would not like it if I were to go out and visit with an unmarried man who has already shown an undue interest in me.”

She wants to laugh at the girl’s naïveté. Renly could not care less for what the girl he claims to want to marry might do, and Hyle is decidedly _not_ unmarried. But she cannot tell the girl this, not when there is so much amusement to be found in watching whatever is about to unfold play out in front of her. “Your engagement does not need to be the death of your social life, my dear girl. Your fiancé should not concern himself with what you do while he is gone, nor should his opinion keep you trapped in the house while everyone else gets to enjoy themselves out on the town.”

The girl nods slowly, her brow furrowing as she considers Cersei’s words. “If you say so, then. I still cannot come to the ball, however. I have nothing suitable for such a fine occasion.”

“It’s only my fool of a brother’s home,” Cersei scoffs, rolling her eyes and striding for the stairs without bothering to see if the countess is following her. From the heavy footfalls trailing behind her, it seems she is. “There’s nothing special about this event at all.”

Jaime will not be present tonight, which is why she and Hyle have chosen to host the ball now. Her brother already had plans to visit with the Dowager Empress and her brother at the Red Keep, and she’s doubly glad for it now that he’s in another mood. Ever since his idiotic duel with Loras Tyrell, he’s been even more withdrawn than usual, refusing to speak to her more and more often while he continues to go out and visit with old friends for tea or go to spar at the club. He’s been so inconstant since returning from the front, and she no longer has confidence that she can rely on him to be an escape from her husband and his brothers whenever they must visit King’s Landing.

“Will your brother be in attendance?” the countess asks tentatively, and if Cersei didn’t know better she’d think there was a hint of eagerness in the girl’s voice. But Brienne Tarth is madly in love with Renly, and has met Jaime enough times to be able to see past the truth of his beauty and riches.

“He will not be present. He occasionally dines at the Red Keep with the Dowager Empress, so he will be off dining with royalty while we make full use of his alcohol stores. Do not worry, though. The night will be much more enjoyable without him moping around all evening.”

She pauses at the top of the stairs, looking back and jerking her head at the countess when she realizes she doesn’t know which room is hers. The girl walks over to one of the many identical doors and opens it, glancing at Cersei out of the corner of her eye in what will likely be the closest thing to an invitation in that she will be provided with.

_It’s no wonder Renly cannot marry her. The girl would never be able to pull off such a farce, not without giving the whole affair away with her shy manner and stumbling tongue._

“I really don’t have much in the way of dresses,” Countess Tarth says, her hands clutching at the plain blue gown she currently wears. “It isn’t very easy to find a seamstress willing to work to my measures, and pre-made gowns are even more difficult to locate.”

Flinging open the wardrobe doors reveals that the young countess is once again telling the truth. All her gowns are simple in both style and cut, with only the dress she wore to the opera and one other hidden near the back of the wardrobe being richly adorned as is currently in fashion. The majority of the gowns are in similar shades of blue, suited to match the girl’s eyes if nothing else. 

“Tsk, tsk,” Cersei murmurs, stepping back and shaking her head briskly. “This simply won’t do at all.”

The girl flushes red, ducking her head as she fiddles with the sleeve of her gown. “I did tell you I don’t have much variety in my wardrobe.”

Cersei shakes her head again, glancing up and down the girl’s body in an assessing manner before turning back to the wardrobe. “You can’t wear the same gown you wore to the opera. And all your other gowns are too plain to suit the ball I intend to throw tonight.” Her gaze returns to the one dress tucked into the back corner, and she pulls it out with a flourish Loras Tyrell would be quite proud of. “This one, though…yes, this one will suit just fine.”

The gown is obviously not suited to the girl at all, cut too short for someone so tall and made of a pink fabric that will look positively dreadful with those constantly flushing cheeks. The countess knows this, too, because she winces at the sight of the gown and looks to the side.

“That one is too old,” she breathes, her cheeks even redder as she continues to avoid Cersei’s gaze. “It doesn’t suit the current fashion.”

It’s not the real reason why Countess Tarth is so eager to avoid the gown, but Cersei can muster enough politeness to refrain from saying so. “Nonsense. It’ll look lovely on you. I insist you wear this one, as a favour to me. After all, we are to be goodsisters soon.”

The mention of her upcoming marriage is what goads the girl into reaching out and taking the gown to lay it out on the bed. “Very well, then. I suppose I will see you tonight?”

 _Victory_. Cersei smiles again, pleased when the girl tentatively attempts to smile back. “Yes, you will. I look forward to it, as does poor dear Baron Hunt.”

She fairly glides down the stairs and out the door to the carriage awaiting her, buoyed by her success in persuading the countess to take part in Hyle’s little game. She doesn’t understand his interest in her, though she suspects it’s only for the fortune she stands to inherit should some misfortune befall her elder brother. But she’ll play along, if only to see what happens when everything falls to pieces as it surely will when a married man begins to toy with an engaged girl. 

Jaime’s driver is looking pointedly at her as he helps her into the carriage, though she tries to ignore him. Her brother’s servants have never liked her for some odd reason, and seem to think her an ill influence on their beloved employer. If she didn’t know that Jaime valued her above anyone else, she would suspect he told them to be cold to her in order to drive her back to her husband’s unwelcome embrace.

But Jaime would never do that to her. He loves her dearly, more than any other woman who might throw herself into his path. Yes, he threatened to duel a man over Countess Tarth, something he’s never done for her, but he was merely looking out for a friend’s younger sister while said friend was off at war. 

“To my brother’s,” she tells the driver, who nods and urges the horses off into a steady trot down the drive of the Stark manor. Yes, this will be entertaining indeed. She can’t wait to see how this all plays out, when the countess discovers the truth of Hyle’s lies, and when Renly realizes that the girl he’s been staking his reputation on is not nearly as pure and good as he presumed she’d be when he proposed to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, Cersei. you may think you know everything, but there's a great deal you're wrong about, as you will eventually discover later on in this story. 
> 
> in another minor miracle, jaime actually gets mentioned more than two times for the second chapter in a row! he's going to get more to do soon, I swear, but brienne has all the action going on right now while he's still moping around the house. 
> 
> the next chapter should be out fairly soon, provided uni doesn't decide to throw me for a loop at some point. I actually have most of the story written now (!), so it shouldn't take too long unless something really weird happens. which, actually, doesn't seem impossible at this point in the year, so I really shouldn't rule that option out at all.


	11. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _waiting at the door..._
> 
> The Lannister manor is in much better repair than that of the Starks, Brienne notes as she walks up the front steps, her shaking hands clenched in the fabric of her gown. Money helps, as does having a much more pristine reputation despite the whispers of Tywin Lannister’s cruelty to servants and his children alike.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring an unpleasant social outing, a dance, an awkward conversation, and a kiss, none of this occurring between the characters you want it to be occurring between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so close to being done writing this one it makes me want to scream quite routinely, but that's FINE. anyways, enjoy me stress-posting because I have yet to write a particular chapter that is much closer to this one than I would like.
> 
> warning for a non-consensual kiss forced on brienne in this chapter! it's quick and doesn't develop beyond that, but it does happen so be aware!
> 
> come find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat). enjoy, and thank you for reading!!

_Burning lips pressed to mine  
Tell me what just happened…_

The Lannister manor is in much better repair than that of the Starks, Brienne notes as she walks up the front steps, her shaking hands clenched in the fabric of her gown. Money helps, as does having a much more pristine reputation despite the whispers of Tywin Lannister’s cruelty to servants and his children alike.

But old Tywin Lannister has been dead for several years now, and if Princess Cersei is to believed his son and heir is no better than a ghost haunting the halls of this very manor. So perhaps this great family will be the next one to fall from on high, brought down by the weight of their own pride just like the old Targaryens of before young Emperor Aegon was seated on the Iron Throne.

Or perhaps not, since the front hall is bustling with activity as she slips inside, hardly noticed among the crush of guests and servants swirling around her. Princess Cersei is instantly recognizable, holding court near the foot of the stairs as Count Loras Tyrell hovers at her side, his arm bound in a sling and a scowl marring his pretty face. She doesn’t see Baron Hunt, however, which she’s relieved for. The baron may have wanted her here badly enough to send the hostess to her doorstep, but she has no desire to see him more than she absolutely has to. His dull, unassuming manner is no act, yet there’s something suspicious hidden behind it all the same.

She stays near the wall, shaking her head when a servant offers her a glass of champagne from the tray he carries. Despite what many believe about her, she’s no stranger to alcohol, having had wine with dinner for as long as she can remember on Tarth. But she would do well to keep a clear head tonight, particularly when she has no idea when Baron Hunt might appear at her side and begin his thinly veiled inquires into whatever it is he wants to learn this time.

Instead, she observes the other guests, taking note of the many members of King’s Landing high society she recognizes from Catelyn’s introductions at the opera. Margaery Tyrell is there in the group gathered around Princess Cersei, the two woman sparring with silvery words as the observers look on with poorly-hidden fascination. Asha Greyjoy lurks in the corner with one of Prince Oberyn Martell’s daughters, while her brother sits near the other wall looking morose. Even Walder Frey is present, leering at some young girl while his wife curls into herself by his side.

Gods, why had she agreed to come tonight? None of these people are her friends, and she doesn’t believe for an instant that Princess Cersei truly cares for her enough to bother seeing if she’s arrived or enjoying herself. Perhaps if Prince Jaime were present, she could have spoken with him, since she at least knows him due to his friendship with Galladon. But he’s not here tonight, leaving her to sit in the corner biding her time until she’s been present long enough to be deemed polite.

“Ah, Countess Tarth,” a voice says from behind her, and she spins around to see Count Varys standing there, an expression that might be a smile or might be a grimace on his face. The count is among the more mysterious nobles of Westeros, since no one is fully certain where he came from, how he obtained his title, or how he manages to know every secret the nobility of King’s Landing thinks they’ve kept so well hidden. “I must admit, I did not expect to see you here tonight. I wasn’t aware you were close with the princess or the baron.”

“I’m not,” she confesses, before wondering if she should reveal so much to a man she’s been warned isn’t trustworthy. “But I met Baron Hunt at the opera two weeks ago, and he wanted me to attend very badly. I felt quite rude refusing him after he delivered such a…passionate invitation.”

Nothing about the baron’s invitation could be considered passionate. She highly doubts the man has a passionate bone in his body. But Count Varys is already studying her far too keenly for her liking, and she has no desire to be an even greater source of gossip than she already is.

“I see,” the count says at last, raising his glass in what she presumes is a toast. “Well, I will not keep you any longer, countess. Congratulations on your engagement, and _enjoy_ your evening.”

Brienne frowns deeply as he glides away, wondering if she should have accepted the champagne after all. This has already been such a confusing day, and the night is still not over yet.

She pushes away from the wall, hoping to find _someone_ she’s friendly with, and steps directly into Baron Hunt’s path in her second great misfortune of the evening.” Brienne!” he cries, stepping back and raising his arms to take her all in. “I am so glad you were able to make it. I feared Cersei wouldn’t be able to convince you, but it seems she proved me incorrect once more.”

 _Wonderful. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid_. She smiles, stilted and false, pretending to be equally delighted as she too steps back to better greet the baron. “Baron Hunt. It is…a pleasure to be here. I thank you for your kind invitation.”

He smiles again, looking her up and down with the same assessing look that Princess Cersei had used that afternoon. “You look…positively lovely! I’m certain you're the envy of every other lady here.”

 _Liar_ , the voice in her head whispers. She’s no lovelier than he is interesting, and the only reason any of the other ladies would be jealous of her is envy over her betrothal to one of the most powerful noble families in Westeros. Hyle Hunt is trying to win her over, but he is too transparent in his attempts to truly succeed.

“Thank you, baron,” she murmurs, glancing around in search of a way past him. “You are…far too kind.”

“Did I not tell you to call me Hyle?” He links his arm through hers before she can make an escape. “Come dance with me, Brienne. I have been waiting to do so all evening.”

She pulls away from him as subtly as possible, flicking a look towards the door. Is it still too soon for her to depart? “I’m afraid I must decline, Baron Hunt. You see, I wanted to speak to…Loras Tyrell. He is a dear friend of my betrothed, and I wanted to become better acquainted with him since we will likely be spending a great deal more time around each other once I am wed.”

Is she imagining it, or does the baron’s expression darken at the mention of her betrothal? “Dear friend, indeed,” he says, a strange note entering his voice that has her taking another step backwards. “Of course. However, he seems quite occupied with Princess Cersei at present. I’m sure he can wait for you to enjoy at least one dance.”

 _Damn this man_ , she thinks, her own vehemence surprising her. Every time she thinks she has found an effective excuse to evade him, he comes up with his own pretence to keep them close together. Perhaps if his actions seemed less a thinly-veiled excuse to be around her, she would be less suspicious of them, but he is not doing a very good job of hiding that he wants something from her.

He extends a hand to her, smiling far too smugly for what should be such an innocent interaction. He’s caught her now, and they both know it. She cannot refuse his offer without seeming rude, and she cannot appear rude without the rumours surrounding her evolving to make her seem stuck-up and arrogant as well. And she is already so weary of all the gossip about her, none of which is anything close to the truth.

She reluctantly takes his hand and lets him lead her to the dance floor, taking care to keep a more-than-appropriate amount of space between them. When Renly danced with her on Tarth, he pulled her close and spoke warmly into her ear, and when she danced with Galladon and his friends at earlier balls, they spun about with her closely wrapped in their arms, laughing all the while. But it was different, dancing with Gal, or Addam, or even Jaime, because they never had any ulterior motive in dancing with her or speaking in kind words that never tried to reassure her about her appearance. She trusts her brother, and she trusts his friends. She does not trust Baron Hunt, no matter how much he seems to want her to.

As they begin to dance, he makes several attempts to pull her closer, all of which she manages to rebuff. For once, she’s grateful to be so large and strong, because it allows her to push him away whenever he tries to step over the bounds of propriety. After a while, he stops trying, though she doesn’t let herself relax. Gods know what he might try to do next, after all.

Rather than attempt to make conversation, she lets her mind wander back to the last balls her father hosted on Tarth, for Galladon’s enlistment and later for both their betrothals. The second of those balls seemed so perfect, so wonderful to her at the time, but thinking back on it now she recalls that Renly barely spoke to her, his betrothed, and spent most of his time in whispered arguments with his friend Loras Tyrell. Galladon had commented on it, she realizes, muttering about how her betrothed should at least make an effort to pretend at happiness. How has she forgotten that for so long?

No, she must be misremembering. It’s just the baron unsettling her again, making her doubt herself and her place in this world. Renly loves her…doesn’t he?

She pushes the thought aside and thinks back still further, to the ball her father held shortly before Galladon departed for his first deployment, back when the war was still young and everyone was full of hope that it would be over quickly. Her brother and his other enlisting friends had all been there, laughing and joking in order to disguise their fear over what might become of them out on the front lines, far away from the luxurious lives they knew so well. They’d all danced with her at least once, confessing their fears to her in a low voice when she pointed out their pretences, catching the secrets they thought they were hiding so well. Laughing Addam Marbrand, proud Oberyn Martell, clever Robb Stark, they all had their doubts, their insecurities, knowing even then that the war would not go as smoothly as so many believed it would. And Jaime, who was all of those things and so much more…

Why has she forgotten so much of that earlier ball in favour of her betrothal one? In her last dance with Jaime Lannister, something had shifted, allowing her to feel fully grown for the first time in her young life. In that moment, he had looked at her with such an odd fire in his eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time, no longer Galladon’s little sister but rather a young woman of marriageable age. Her father had mused, once the night had ended, if he might be able to arrange a match between the pair of them, commenting on how advantageous a marriage into the powerful Lannister family might be for them. But Jaime had gone off to war shortly after, and then Renly had come to Tarth, and all that was forgotten in favour of her handsome, kind Baratheon prince who had gripped her hands in his and promised to write before vanishing off into the setting sun, heading to the front with all the rest.

He hasn’t written, she realizes, at least not beyond a few scant lines that are no more significant than what he sent to his brothers during his stay on Tarth. She writes him every week, pages and pages filled with the secrets she’s kept hidden deep within for so long, but he has hardly written her at all since he departed to return to the front.

Does he even love her at all? Was everything he said to her on Tarth a lie?

She’s so shocked by the thought that she barely registers the baron pulling her closer at last, though she jolts back into herself once it happens. “You seem thoughtful,” he says to her with a knowing expression on his face. “Care to inform the rest of us what has you so lost in your own mind? I’m beginning to wonder if I’m simply so terrible a dance partner you can hardly stand to acknowledge my existence.”

“I was…I was merely remembering,” she splutters, her cheeks burning red as she tries to tug her hands free from his firm grip. “Renly danced with me on Tarth. I…being here recalled the memory.”

The baron arches an eyebrow, stepping closer to her and tightening his hold on her wrists. “Of course. And who could blame you for it? He’s your betrothed, who you must miss _desperately_.”

“Yes,” she mutters, once more trying to free her hands from his grasp. “He’s been gone for far too long.”

He smiles at that, slow and predatory, and she yanks harder at her arm, frantic to get away now. This man cannot be trusted, and she was a fool to come here tonight. Already, she’s doubting Renly’s love for her, wondering if her betrothal is anything more than a sham. What foolish thing will she do next, tempted by this baron with the shifting eyes who thinks he can win her over with false flattery and empty smiles?

“Do not leave so quickly, Brienne,” he whispers into her ear, ignoring how she flinches back from his approach. “The night has only just begun, and I have so much I want to show you.”

“I have to get back to the manor,” she says, tugging her arm back once again to no avail. His nails are digging into the flesh of her wrist, and it _hurts_ every time she pulls away from him in order to keep herself a suitable distance from the baron. “Princess Catelyn will be wondering where I am.”

Somehow, the baron has guided her to a secluded corner of the dance floor, where everyone’s backs are to them and no one else is standing and talking. “Nonsense,” he says with a scoff, finally releasing one of her wrists in order to slide his hand down her back, dropping dangerously low even as she stiffens beneath his touch. “She does not control you. You should take this time to enjoy yourself, to live life to the fullest before your betrothed returns and carries you off to your tedious new life at Storm’s End.”

It’s eerily similar to what Cersei said to her that afternoon, and she frowns deeply at him once he finishes speaking. “That may be so, but I do not want to worry her unduly. She has been so kind hosting me in her home. It would be rude to entirely disregard her hospitality in favour of vanishing without telling her where I’ve gone.”

“You are too kind, dear Brienne,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “I understand why your fiancé is so enraptured with you now. How can one not be, even after knowing you for so little time? I imagine Jaime Lannister would say the same, if I were to ask him.”

_What does Jaime have to do with any of this?_

“I really must go,” she says again, trapped between his grip on her wrist and his hand on her back. “I have been here for too much time already.”

The baron steps closer again, pinning her against a wall while she trembles beneath his touch. “Ah, but how can you leave before I have shown you the best part of this lovely manor we are in? Surely you would not abandon me so quickly when there is still so much to discuss.”

“We have nothing more—“ she begins, but is cut off when his lips press over hers, swallowing her words and leaving her frozen against the wall as she tries to understand _how, why_. Is this the culmination of the baron’s plan, to kiss her and leave her shaken and doubtful in the aftermath of his onslaught? Has he been hoping for it to end like this the entire time?

Why is it that Renly never kissed her, not even at the height of their courtship?

At last, her body unfreezes, and she shoves him backwards, freeing herself at last. He stares at her, a slow grin spreading across his face, and she swipes her sleeve over her mouth, staring at him with horror and fear and doubt.

“I…I have to go,” she mumbles, before turning and fleeing the manor, racing down the front steps as he laughs behind her, cruel and proud and terrible. She should never have come to the ball tonight, should never have acquiesced to Cersei Baratheon’s insistent prodding. If she had known it would end like this, she never would have spoken to the baron at all that day at the opera two weeks ago, back when she still was certain of her betrothal, back when an engagement still seemed a worthy protection from the unwanted advances of a strange man with an unknown agenda he has made absolutely no effort to disguise from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus concludes act 1 of great comet, and of this story. Brienne is coming to a few realizations, jaime is off sulking somewhere, and the author would really like a nap but doesn't think that's going to solve their exhaustion problem. 
> 
> anyways, things are...probably not going to move more quickly now! this is still a ridiculously slow-moving story! do not expect jaime and brienne to meet up any time soon! it will not be happening and you will be sorely disappointed! believe me, I am too!
> 
> anyways I'm going to stop being overly cheery, post this, and go pass out for as long as I can get away with. uni sucks, kids. don't do it.


	12. Letters, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _in nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters..._
> 
> Of Jaime’s friends from school, all but himself and Oberyn Martell are on the front lines of the war. He and Oberyn both were there as well at various points, but he lost a hand and Oberyn’s sister, the Dowager Empress, summoned him back to the capital when she found herself in need of her brother’s advice and support. But Addam Marbrand, Robb Stark, Galladon Tarth, they are all still out at the front, still fighting even as the war creeps closer to the capital, to the families and fiancées they hope to protect.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a series of letter to old friends, quite a bit of introspection, and Jaime's many incorrect assumptions about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this chapter now while I'm still riding on the high of having finished the writing of this fic, which will definitely die out by the time November hits but hey, it's DONE! updates are going to come pretty regularly from now on, unless something ridiculous happens like me losing my laptop, which I don't plan on doing.
> 
> if you know great comet, we're reached the point where the plot of this story really diverges from the great comet plot, not in terms of the events being different but more in terms of the emotions surrounding them being different (though some of the events will change due to necessity). in other, completely unrelated news, I know almost all the lyrics to letters by heart and this song will definitely be in my head all day now.
> 
> find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat) if you want to come burst my bubble before Sunday hits. thank you for reading!

_In nineteenth-century Russia, we write letters  
We write letters…_

Of Jaime’s friends from school, all but himself and Oberyn Martell are on the front lines of the war. He and Oberyn both were there as well at various points, but he lost a hand and Oberyn’s sister, the Dowager Empress, summoned him back to the capital when she found herself in need of her brother’s advice and support. But Addam Marbrand, Robb Stark, Galladon Tarth, they are all still out at the front, still fighting even as the war creeps closer to the capital, to the families and fiancées they hope to protect.

He doesn’t write any of them as often as he would like to, hampered by the missing hand and by a general sense of apathy regarding everything that’s happened since the cannon took his hand from him and robbed him of the future he had planned for himself. But in the week or so that has passed since his foolish duel with Loras Tyrell, he has come to several realizations, the first being that his friends are likely very concerned about him and he should probably write them to assure them he is alright and adjusting well to life without his right hand.

And he is, to his surprise. Once he began pulling himself out of his misery and considering the year he has been back in King’s Landing, he realized that he can, in fact, do most things quite well with his left hand after so much time practicing. His writing will never be considered neat, but it is legible now, and that is all he asks of a hand that has only spent a year being tasked to do all the things his dominant hand was once fully capable of.

The content of the letters is, surprisingly, the hardest part. Addam is the easiest to write to, since they have known each other for the longest period of time. But easiest does not mean simple or straightforward, particularly when all of the concerns he’d normally share in a letter feel petty and stupid when compared to the war all his friends are fighting in.

“What do I say?” he asks himself at one point, when he has started and crossed out at least three different greetings to his oldest friend. “How do I tell them about what has happened to me, when they have spent the last year facing atrocities much worse than the gossips of King’s Landing and poor choices they brought upon themselves through reckless misery?”

In the end, he tells Addam very little, though he does remark on the duel with Tyrell and how foolish a choice _that_ particular matter was. He’s lucky that the count is expected to make a full recovery, else he’d have the full force of Countess Olenna Tyrell coming after him. Renly Baratheon as well, but he doesn’t fear Renly the same way he does Olenna.

He writes of Addam’s wife, Dacey, who he married on his last leave, shortly before he and Jaime returned to the front and Jaime lost his hand. Dacey is not currently staying in King’s Landing, preferring to spend time with her mother and sisters on their distant Northern island, but she did come stay with him for a while when he first returned from the front, eager for stories about the husband she married all too quickly before his leave ended. 

_You have married well,_ he tells Addam in his letter, _for she is sharp of wit and tongue, and did an excellent job of keeping me in my place for the entirety of her visit. Do bring her by often when you return, as I believe I shall soon find myself enjoying her company far more than yours!_

Addam will think it amusing, and will likely laugh at Jaime telling him of his many failures in the year since they have last seen each other. He’ll also understand what has not been written, the lingering pain that hides in the empty spaces between lines and in the darkest recesses of Jaime’s mind. They have known each other for so long, after all. It’s only sensible that they communicate best in the things they do not say to each other.

He lingers even longer over his letter to Robb, uncertain of how to explain his lengthy silence to the most rational and level-headed of their group. His rashness regarding his marriage aside, Robb has never been one to hastily leap to conclusions or action, and he is the least likely to understand why Jaime would stand in the path of Loras Tyrell’s gun and pray for the bullet to strike him in the ribs or the chest. 

For a moment, he considers not writing Robb at all, but that would be far too cruel for someone he still considers a dear friend, someone who he fears may not be able to return from his latest assignment, heading deep into enemy territory in order to rescue prisoners and retrieve information. So he puts pen to paper and tells Robb of his sisters and mother, of how Princess Catelyn looks drawn and pale at any mention of the war or the Winterfell estate, of how he is routinely knocked on his ass by young Arya at the club, or how Sansa is slowly but surely charming the gossips of King’s Landing into forgiving the Stark family for Robb’s error when he married Jeyne Westerling rather than the Frey girl he was betrothed to.

 _Your sisters are doing quite well, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now,_ he writes, frowning over each word. _As for your mother, she perseveres as best she can, though I hope for her sake your brothers are able to return from Riverrun soon to bring some more joy to her life. I would visit and offer her support if I thought she would accept it, but sadly I will have to make do with observing from afar and praying she is as strong as I believe her to be._

Oddly, his letter to Galladon is the most difficult to write, though it does not seem to be so for much of the opening. Discussing the duel, his recovery, his friend’s fiancée, and the petty affairs of King’s Landing are far easier than either of the two previous letters, yet he stalls when it comes to writing of his friend’s sister, Brienne, now visiting King’s Landing in anticipation of her own fiancé’s return from the front lines.

Despite what his sister thinks, Jaime is not a fool. He is well aware that Renly Baratheon’s interest does not lie in the woman he proposed to, and doubts that the marriage will actually go through when Baratheon returns from the front and decides he is no longer willing to live such a false life. But he cannot help thinking that Brienne Tarth deserves better than the youngest Baratheon brother, that she deserves better than a man who would use her and toy with her feelings in such a cruel way.

He has known her for nearly as long as he has known Galladon, though he will freely admit that it took him years to truly appreciate her for who she is. Brienne will never be considered beautiful, which is likely why Renly chose her, of all people, to take part in his little ruse, his attempt at disguising the truth they all know already. It’s not fair to her, though. She is still young, still naive enough to believe the stories of true love and magic, and she will never be able to experience that when Baratheon inevitably tosses her aside, ruining both her heart and her reputation.

But how can he confess all this to Galladon, who has always been fiercely protective of his little sister, who would end the war single-handedly in order to hunt down Renly Baratheon and slowly punish him for toying with his beloved sister’s emotions in such a heartless way? How can he admit that his own thoughts about Brienne Tarth are not as innocent as they should be, that he nearly duelled Ronnet Connington over an insult that he should not have been bothered by in the slightest? How does he explain all this to a friend who is far away, fighting a war that he should be a part of right now as well?

Whatever feelings he has for Brienne are minor, of course. They’ll fade in a few months, when she is either married or abandoned, when Galladon returns to marry Sansa Stark and decides to tear down the Baratheon line stone by stone as retribution for the wrongs they did his sister. He’ll watch the whole thing play out in sympathy and amusement, and then he’ll move on, marry like his father wanted him to do years ago despite not having any particular desire to. But he cannot afford to leave Casterly Rock and the family fortune in the hands of Cersei and her children, not after she has demonstrated that he cannot even leave her alone in the manor for an evening without her getting into some sort of trouble.

She still remains in the house—he’s not so cruel as to send her back to her husband and his drunken rages—but she stays hidden in the other wing, out of his way after the ball she hosted the other night. He missed the height of the festivities, or so Hyle Hunt told him before he bodily threw the man out of his home, but it was still quite a shock to return from his dinner with Elia and Oberyn to see guests gathered at his home and his sister and Hyle Hunt—of all people!—holding court on the main stairs, looking shocked and horrified to see him returned earlier than he’d originally told her he would.

They have not spoken since, and that is unlikely to change anytime soon. He wonders how long this peace will last though, knowing all too well that she is planning something else, something more drastic or excessive in order to get back at him for his anger over the ball she threw in _his_ manor without bothering to so much as tell him she intended to do so.

It grates on him, because he would have granted it had she just asked. But she did not, choosing instead to conspire with Hyle Hunt behind his back, and that is the part he cannot forgive. He has informed Hunt he is no longer welcome in the Lannister manor, and hopefully that will be the last he sees of the blasted man for a good long while. Gods know the fool should spend less time hovering around wealthy women he hopes to seduce and more time working to regain his fortune through much more legal means than seducing married women or gambling away money he does not have.

Cersei, of course, has no idea why he is upset, and had the nerve to accuse _him_ of being irrational once he ensured Hunt was off the property. Perhaps his reaction was extreme, but he is tired of her undermining him in his own home, acting like she owns his manor as well when she has her husband’s servants she could be bullying like she so clearly wants to. 

But that is all beside the point. The truth is, he has no idea what to tell Galladon about his sister, and the other man will notice if he fails to mention her despite them both knowing full well she is currently in the same city as he is. Several more minutes of agonizing offer no clear solution, and he eventually decides to just write and hope it all works out.

_Your sister seems well, from what little I have heard of her. Cersei saw her at the opera and was her usual self about the matter, which I take to mean as she is jealous of another’s happiness while she is miserable. Unfortunately, I have been unable to make time to visit as of yet, but I hope to do so in the next few days, once I have confirmation that Count Tyrell will fully recover and I no longer fear Countess Olenna’s wrath falling upon me every time I step outside._

He eventually sets the pen aside and stares out the window as snow drifts down, coating the city in a soft white blanket and shrouding the dirt and scandal that shows much more cleanly in the warmth of summer. He’ll have to tell Peck to put the carriage in storage and bring out the sleigh, though if he knows anything about his servants than the young man has already begun the process. Winter has finally arrived in King’s Landing, and the city is beginning to settle in for the colder months, when the biting winter wind roars over Blackwater Bay and snow makes even the slums of Flea Bottom look pristine and white.

On the front, things will settle for a while, as they have with every other winter that’s passed them by while the war rages. The cold will keep the enemy from advancing for a little while at least, and the Westerosi army will burrow itself into the snow in hopes of keeping the invaders at bay for just a little longer when the thaw begins at last. 

And Jaime…he’ll have a choice, or a few choices, to make. He cannot continue the way he was before the duel, but he also cannot become an entirely new person overnight—as the last few days have taught him. It’s unclear what, exactly, he needs to do to find his way out of the darkness his life has become, but he must try. He cannot afford another incident like the one with Loras Tyrell.

Maybe the war will arrive in King’s Landing tomorrow and make all his plans useless. Maybe he’ll live past all this and die old and content in Casterly Rock with his family at his side. He has no way of knowing what the future will bring, and the duel taught him that any attempts to control it are foolish at best and deadly at worst. He will simply have to content himself with doing the best he can, with forging ahead on this new path he now sees lying ahead of him, with working to become the man he once thought he’d become, the man he’s wanted to be but never bothered to work to become for far, far too many years.

He’ll have to start by sending these letters, though. They cannot lie here on his desk forever, as that would entirely defeat the purpose of writing them in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sure, jaime. it'll definitely pass. your feelings for brienne are very insignificant and are sure to pass by quickly. I absolutely believe you.


	13. Letters, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we put down in writing..._
> 
> Brienne only realizes how long she has been sitting there, staring at the page with Renly’s name written at the top, when the candle in her lantern begins to sputter, burning lower and lower until only a little wax is left. She had come to the library intending to write her weekly letter to send to Renly, as she has every week since he left her on Tarth with a ring and a promise, but for the first time she finds herself unable to write, uncertain of what to say.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring more letter writing, doubts, and a few realizations that may finally spur the plot of this story along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy I love waking up really early and posting before 5am. it's a great time.
> 
> this chapter is really where this fic begins to diverge from the great comet plot, in that certain realizations that happen in this chapter don't happen at all in the show. it wasn't supposed to be like that, but these characters seem to have minds of their own, and I apparently have no control over them at all anymore. the events of this chapter are as much of a surprise to me as they might be to you.
> 
> come find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), where I will definitely be complaining about nano. thank you for reading!!

_We put down in writing  
What is happening in our minds…_

Brienne only realizes how long she has been sitting there, staring at the page with Renly’s name written at the top, when the candle in her lantern begins to sputter, burning lower and lower until only a little wax is left. She had come to the library intending to write her weekly letter to send to Renly, as she has every week since he left her on Tarth with a ring and a promise, but for the first time she finds herself unable to write, uncertain of what to say.

Was it really only a month ago when she first came to King’s Landing, nervous and eager, hoping for her adventure in the capital to end as soon as possible so Renly could sweep her off her feet as he did in those brief golden days on Tarth? So much has changed since then: her doubts, the cruelty of the Baratheon brothers, Hyle Hunt. Now, she is uncertain, afraid, wondering what her fiancé, the man who claims to lover her, truly thinks every time he receives one of her letters.

Does he even read them, she wonders, or does he merely set them aside and turn to whatever he deems more important this time? He’s never properly responded to her, after all. And in all the time she’s been writing to him, he’s never told her anything more personal than of his dislike for his brothers. And even that might have been on Tarth, now that she thinks about it a little more.

She sighs heavily and lowers her head into her hands, barely noticing when Pod slips in to replace her dying candle with a fresh one. When did her life become so complicated? Did the war bring it on, as it brought so many other changes? Was it something else, Renly or Hyle Hunt or her arrival in King’s Landing? Or is it that she chose the wrong man to marry, that her betrothal to Renly was never meant to be, and the gods are seeking to correct that mistake?

She’s been wondering that a great deal lately, ever since the ball at the Lannister manor where her dance with Baron Hunt reminded her of the other ball on Tarth, of Jaime Lannister dancing with her, of her father musing over a wholly different engagement than the one that ended up occurring. It’s likely that she’s simply being foolish and exaggerating a situation that was never real or was much more subtle than she remembers it as being, but it could be that her memory is correct, and she simply pushed it aside in favour of Renly when he came to Tarth and made everything else seem dull in comparison.

Or was that just the gilded tint in her memories?

She doesn’t know anymore, and that terrifies her. She longs for the time when everything was certain, when Galladon was by her side and she was happy and in love and all was well. But was it ever truly like that, or has she hidden the truth from her own mind as a reassurance, as a comfort?

Gods, this is madness. She puts the paper with Renly’s name aside, shaking her head and reaching for the letters she has yet to read, that she’s been putting off in order to finish writing to her betrothed first. All she’s doing is going in circles, and none of it is doing her any good. She should let the matter rest for now, and come back to it later once her head is clear.

Of course, the first letter she opens is from Stannis Baratheon, making her resolution absolutely useless. She’s sorely tempted to toss it in the fire without looking back, recalling all too clearly his cold looks and sharp tongue when she came to visit for tea that fateful afternoon. But Catelyn _did_ say he seemed remorseful when she came to confront him and his brother, and so she reads the letter through despite her misgivings.

Prince Stannis begs for her forgiveness, explaining that he was simply tired and miserable from having to care for the obnoxious Prince Robert and that he quite unfairly took his anger out on her. He asks that they try to look past his ill manners and attempt to reconcile, stating that he does not want them to be so estranged if they are to be family soon. Despite her doubts, he actually seems sincere, though she’s not certain how willing she is to forgive him entirely just yet. 

_I apologize once again_ , he writes, his words dispassionate yet not hard or false-sounding. _My brother and I treated you abysmally, I all the more so because I know better than to be so harsh and cruel. You did not deserve any of the cruel words we threw at you, and I hope that someday you can find it in yourself to forgive me for my actions. I will not dare say such about Robert, as I doubt he even recalls you came by._

It seems perfectly genuine. But she already doubts Renly, who she was supposed to be able to trust. How can she be certain that Stannis, who she had just one disastrous meeting with, is telling the truth? How can she know that he is sincere?

“What has become of me?” she whispers into the silence of the library, setting the letter down and reaching for another paper to begin a response. “I used to be able to trust people so easily. What went wrong?”

The library has no answer for her, and neither does the blank sheet of paper before her on the desk. Perhaps if she worked her way back, traced the path of her life from her engagement on Tarth to now, she’d be able to determine where it all went wrong. 

But what purpose would that serve? She cannot go back and fix things, cannot go back and set herself on the right path now that she has strayed so far from it. Whatever may come, whether it be more of the baron’s manipulations or Renly’s return, she will have to handle it based on her current situation, not what she hopes might have happened years ago in order to prevent all this from happening.

Her reply to Stannis proves no more forthcoming than her letter to Renly, and she groans with exasperation as she adds that paper to the stack of half-begun letters next to her on the desk. What is she supposed to do in this sort of situation? All the stories she loved so dearly as a child never covered anything like this, a dilemma where a young woman doubts her engagement and avoids the pursuit of a suspicious man and discovers odd feelings for an old friend. 

And she cannot tell Catelyn or Sansa or Arya, either. They do not know she went to the ball last night, do not know she has seen the baron since their interaction at the opera two weeks ago. Only Sansa knows of her vision in the mirror, and even that may not be enough to explain how she has found herself in such a twisted mess, torn between three vastly different paths without a clue as to how to proceed.

She must do this alone. She has no other choice, it seems.

Sifting through the stack of letters, she finds one written in an unfamiliar hand, with no address on the envelope to offer a clue as to the identity of the writer. Cautiously, she opens it, absently wondering if she should write to her brother instead, talk to him about this dilemma even though he’s too far away to answer. Her distraction means she doesn’t look down to see who wrote the letter until after she’s begun reading it, and by then she cannot tear her eyes away from the words scrawling across the page, words she never thought would be written regarding someone like her.

_Brienne, Brienne, my dear Brienne, you must put me out of my misery before I waste away longing for your affection. I cannot live without you, and I will not wait any longer. Come away with me in two days’ time, come away to Dorne or Pentos or some other distant land, and let us be happy together there, far from the politics and the war and those who do not love nor understand us. Brienne, darling Brienne, I love you too dearly to remain apart from you for so long. Let us be wed, and damn any who might tell us otherwise._

Baron Hunt has signed his name at the bottom of the page, though she doubts such a stilted man is actually capable of writing the flowery, beautiful words that flow across the paper, tempting and seductive. If she were not already aware of the baron’s game, she might even be tempted to say yes, to fling herself into his arms, leaving Renly, Jaime, everyone else to their fates without ever looking back.

But she knows she has not misread the baron’s intentions, and the fact that he likely did not write this letter is merely further proof that he cannot be trusted. If he truly loved her, he would tell her so himself, rather than sending Cersei Baratheon to lure her to the ball and forcing kisses upon her and employing one of his servants to write what is meant to be a love letter, something written and sent from the heart. If he truly loved her, he would respect that she has no interest in him and leave her be, resuming his normal life even if he must nurse a broken heart all the while.

Still, though, this changes things. She wants to hate the baron for making her doubt Renly’s faithfulness, his love for her, but that is the one thing about him she believes is honest, the one thing she finds she can forgive among his many strange and arrogant actions. She will not go away with the baron, and never will, but can she really let Renly marry her as though nothing has happened, as though nothing has changed, when he inevitably returns from the front?

She tosses Baron Hunt’s letter aside and returns to the letter she began to Renly, writing quickly so as to ensure she has no time to convince herself otherwise. Apologies spill from her pen, though what she tells him will only capture a small portion of the entire tale that has led to her choosing to break off their engagement and hunt for her happiness at last. Her _true_ happiness, she thinks, not whatever false veneer made her think she was happy and loved with Renly.

_I truly am sorry, Renly. But I do not believe you have ever truly loved me, and I cannot tie myself to a man who does not love me even if that means I will be alone for all eternity._

It’s all the truth, though it pains her to write it all out so plainly. Once again, she longs to write Galladon, to spill everything out to him as she used to when they were young and she was hiding some secret from their father or needed to confess something to someone, tired of keeping it all hidden. He’s always been there for her when she’s needed comfort, and it’s been so hard having him far off, fighting on the front lines with only a few letters returning home every month or so.

Gal would understand, if she were to tell him everything. He’d reassure her about her choice, would let her cry onto his shoulder as she mourned the end of her engagement with Renly, the end of the life she’d been planning for more than a year now. He’d understand and agree with her concerns about Baron Hunt, though she’d likely have to restrain him from challenging the baron to a duel when he found out about the ball and the kiss and how terrified she was, pressed between his body and the wall behind her. And he’d be delighted to hear her confession about Jaime, having wanted her to marry one of his friends for nearly as long as she could remember. He’d offer to write to Jaime on her behalf, making it one less confession she had to make on her own. Gods, she misses him so much.

Finishing Renly’s letter, she sets it aside to let the ink dry and picks up the beginning of her letter to Stannis, at last resolved on her next move, on her plan for the future. She’ll accept Stannis Baratheon’s apology, unwilling to hold a grudge for so long when they’ll likely never be forced to meet again after all this ends. But she still owes him an explanation, just as much as she owes it to Renly to tell him why she’s breaking their engagement, why she cannot marry him despite having been so eager to only a few weeks before.

Jaime, though…

What is she supposed to say to a man she has not spoken to or seen in more than a year and a half, a man who she thinks she might have feelings for, a man who has been her brother’s friend for so long that he has seen her grow from a child into an adult, a man who likely feels nothing more than friendship for her in return? How does she make that confession, when she has no idea where to begin?

At the very least, she’s beginning to understand the vision she saw in the mirror. She and Renly were never meant to marry, something she could only realize thanks to Baron Hunt—not that she’ll ever thank him for anything, however. Seeing Jaime at the end of her vision, combined with Arya’s vision of her dancing with him among the ruins of Winterfell, it must mean something. Maybe they will not marry, maybe he will never feel for her as she apparently does for him, but there is _something_ between them. She can deny that fact no longer.

She sighs heavily, taking her letters for Stannis and Renly and rising to her feet. She’ll write to Jaime Lannister later, or go call on him tomorrow after Catelyn takes them shopping. Perhaps she’ll know what to tell him then. It’s doubtful, but she can hope.

Pod is hovering in the hall outside the library, dusting picture frames, but he jumps to attention when she approaches him with the letters gripped in her hand. “Countess Tarth! Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes,” she tells him, pressing the letters into his hand with a warm smile. “Could you send these letters off for me? I would do so myself, but it’s been a long day, and I would like to retire soon.”

“Of course,” he says, already darting off down the hallway. “It will be no trouble at all.”

That taken care of, she climbs the stairs and heads for her room, determined to sleep and recover from the ball and the stresses of the last few days. She’ll likely miss dinner, but Catelyn and Arya are off visiting with the Tyrells, so they won’t notice her absence for a second night in a row. 

She’s only just begun to settle in, reaching for the ties of her dress to change into something simpler, when the door to her room swings open and Sansa steps in, a folded paper held in her hand and a somber look on her face. “Brienne,” she says quietly, lifting the page up and revealing Baron Hunt’s love letter, “what is this? What’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyle is not very good at romancing people, as you've probably figured out by now, so he got Loras to write the letter instead. this is actually straight from great comet, and I found it so amusing I couldn't _not_ include it. 
> 
> I might begin to post more often after this? I haven't really decided yet but I don't especially want to be sitting on the rest of the story for another month. you'll probably find out whenever I do decide to post, because schedules are for the weak and also for everything else in my life.


	14. Sonya & Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _how was it I noticed nothing?_
> 
> The last thing Sansa expected to find when she entered the library to find she had just missed Brienne’s departure was a letter lying on the desk from some man her friend is not engaged to, and especially not a letter professing said man’s undying love for her and asking her to run away and marry him somewhere far from the capital, far from the politics and conflict in Westeros. Brienne loves Renly, has loved him ever since she first set eyes on him when his ship disembarked on Tarth. She would _never_ carry out an affair.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a confrontation from a concerned friend, a sudden remembrance, and a revelation startling to both Sansa and the author.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so this chapter is really where this story begins to go off the rails, at least for me, the unfortunate writer who HAD a plan until brienne decided to mess it up by having FEELINGS. very rude of her, really. 
> 
> this chapter was ALSO originally supposed to be from Brienne's POV, but Sansa butted her way in and it ended up being a good thing actually so I left it in Sansa's POV instead. really, this chapter can be summarized by 'I had intentions and none of them actually made it into the chapter'. it's a good time, writing. 
> 
> come find me on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat), where I will definitely be stressing about nano and other things we shall not sully these notes by discussing. enjoy, and thank you for reading!!

_What has happened between you?  
What has he said to you?_

The last thing Sansa expected to find when she entered the library to find she had just missed Brienne’s departure was a letter lying on the desk from some man her friend is not engaged to, and especially not a letter professing said man’s undying love for her and asking her to run away and marry him somewhere far from the capital, far from the politics and conflict in Westeros. Brienne loves Renly, has loved him ever since she first set eyes on him when his ship disembarked on Tarth. She would _never_ carry out an affair.

But there’s no denying that the letter is real, written and signed by one Hyle Hunt, who she vaguely recalls from the opera performance two weeks before. Her mother had dismissed him as a gambling fool, and Brienne had muttered after the fact that he was an incredibly pushy and forceful man, but none of that explains why he’s writing _love letters_ to Brienne now, only two weeks after their first meeting.

Now, she stands in the doorway of Brienne’s room and watches her friend go pale at the sight of the letter, though she doesn’t try to snatch it from Sansa’s hands or deny that it’s real. “That,” Brienne says slowly, not meeting her eyes, “is a letter from Baron Hunt.”

Sansa frowns and strides across the room to sit next to Brienne on her bed, setting the letter down between them. “Why is Baron Hunt writing you love letters, Brienne? Are you not betrothed to Renly?”

Brienne swallows once, folding her hands in her lap and looking deliberately down at them. “Not anymore,” she replies at last, almost too softly for Sansa to hear. “I broke it off.”

“ _Brienne_.” Sansa reaches out and grabs her friend’s hands, forcing her to look up and meet her gaze. “Why? You’re not…planning on accepting the baron’s offer, are you?”

“No!” Brienne cries, shaking her head immediately. “I would never. I don’t trust him for a moment, and I don’t even think he was the one who wrote this letter. But…I can’t marry Renly. I should never have accepted his proposal in the first place.”

“But _why_?” 

“He doesn’t love me,” her friend says quietly, once again unable to meet her eyes. “And I…I thought I loved him, but perhaps it was just infatuation, me clinging to an illusion of love in order to forget my feelings for…someone else.”

Sansa can only shake her head, staring at Brienne with shock and horror in her eyes. “Brienne, I don’t understand. For months, you’ve been mooning over Renly, delighted at the thought of marrying for love despite having always thought you’d die alone. What has happened to make that change now? Are you certain you’re not going to run away with the baron?”

Brienne sighs, something sad and serious lurking in her eyes that Sansa can’t quite interpret. “I’m not going to run off with him. As I said, I don’t think he’s truly interested in me, and I could never ruin my family by doing such a thing.”

 _Robb could_ , Sansa thinks, bitter for a moment before pushing the thought aside. Her elder brother’s actions were thoughtless and stupid, but who can fault him for acting so rashly when it was all for love’s sake? Surely she can understand why Brienne is doing the same, then.”

“And Renly never loved me,” Brienne continues, hurt flashing in her eyes. “I thought he did, but Gal knew from the beginning that his interest lay elsewhere, that he was just using me to hide some secret or spite his brothers or something else. I wouldn’t be marrying for love, not really, and I’d eventually be alone and miserable in Storm’s End, regretting that I’d ever agreed to marry a man who didn’t care for me.”

“I see,” Sansa murmurs, and she does. Renly’s interest had strayed to Loras Tyrell more than it ever went to the young woman he was supposedly courting, something her own betrothed had griped about on numerous occasions before the betrothal was finalized. But she’d thought Brienne was happy, content. How had all that changed so quickly?

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Brienne says after a moment, tightening her hold on Sansa’s hands. “I already wrote Renly telling him we cannot wed, and I will not accept the baron’s offer if it is the last one I ever get, but how do I tell all this to my father? How do I get him to accept that I made this choice?”

“If he loves you, then he’ll accept it,” Sansa tells her fiercely, wanting to pull Brienne into a firm embrace and never let go. “If he doesn’t, then you can stay with us anyways. Mother’s already so fond of you, and when Galladon comes back he’ll be more than willing to take you in if your father still refuses to understand. I’ll insist on it, actually.”

“I’m not worried about Gal’s reaction,” Brienne admits, smiling for the first time since Sansa walked into the room. “He never liked Renly all that much to begin with.”

Sansa nods, thinking back on the events of the last two weeks and how quickly things have changed. The crux of it seems to have been in the past two days, ever since she showed Brienne the candle-in-the-mirror tradition…

 _Shit_ , she thinks, for once uncaring about her language. Brienne’s vision in the mirror predicted all this, didn’t it? The end of her betrothal with Renly, that was when the baron stepped into the frame and Renly turned and walked away, defeated by the truth that was hidden within his actions. The baron also departed, meaning whatever he’s planning for Brienne likely won’t succeed. And the final part of Brienne’s vision…

She recalls, abruptly, a half-forgotten conversation with Galladon at Brienne’s betrothal announcement. Brienne’s brother had been shaking her head as his sister danced with Renly, muttering that the Baratheon prince was unworthy of his sister if he was willing to use her so blatantly. 

“It’s not fair to her,” he had said, anger clear in his gaze despite his evident delight at his sister’s happiness. “She deserves to be loved as much as she loves him. He won’t ever do that for her.”

“They can learn to love each other, though,” she had said, recalling her own parents and how their marriage had transformed into something loving after being arranged in haste a few short weeks before it took place. “It doesn’t have to be so stilted forever.”

Galladon had shaken his head again, before looking to the empty spaces where his friends would have been, had the war not been raging. “It’s not right,” he said quietly. “And not fair to her. Or to Jaime, for that matter.”

“Jaime?” she’d asked, startled at his mentioning a friend that had nothing to do with any of this. “What does he have to do with Brienne’s engagement?”

“He’s in love with her,” Galladon muttered, his gaze returning to his sister and her fiancé on the dance floor. “He doesn’t realize it, but he is. He could have come back for my betrothal announcement, but he refused when he heard that Brienne’s was going to be announced at the same time. He can’t even stand to watch her be engaged to a man he thinks she loves. How is he going to handle witnessing her be unhappily married to someone who doesn’t love her in return, not like he could?”

She’d forgotten it afterwards, thinking Brienne too content in her engagement for anything to disturb her joy. Now, though, as she watches her friend fidget nervously, uncertain and afraid, it comes rushing back to her mind, causing her to wonder if she’s been reading this situation wrong the entire time. 

“Whatever you do, I’ll support you,” she tells Brienne, and the other woman’s shoulders visibly slump in relief. “Unless you run off with the baron, of course, but I don’t think you’re foolish enough to do something quite that rash.”

“Of course not,” Brienne says, faking affront. She laughs, though, and Sansa smiles warmly at her in return.

Privately, she worries that the baron won’t be dissuaded as easily as that. He must be determined indeed if he’s willing to go to such lengths to persuade Brienne to wed him despite her engagement—as far as he knows, at least. Will he give in when she sends him a refusal, or will he arrive on their doorstep anyways, intent on taking Brienne with him whether she desires it or not. 

She’ll have to discuss this with Arya later, and together they’ll come up with some plan to counter whatever the baron might do. They cannot allow him to take Brienne away, especially not when she has said multiple times that she does not want him to.

“I think my vision is coming true,” Brienne tells her abruptly, coming to the same conclusion Sansa had come to several minutes before. “Renly leaving, the baron arriving, it all seems too similar to be a coincidence. I just hope he gives it up soon. I’m tired of having to run away from him every time we encounter each other.”

“Do you think the end of your vision will come true as well?” Sansa asks, soft and tentative. She shouldn’t push Brienne, not when she’s just ended her engagement, but she is curious. Galladon believed Jaime loves his sister, but does she feel the same?

“I’m not sure.” Brienne shrugs, looking off into the distance. “I…I’d like to hope it would, but does Jaime feel anything for me? Does he feel…does he feel the same way I do?”

Sansa nearly shrieks at Brienne’s words, but clenches her jaw shut just in time to prevent it from happening. “How long? How long have you been in love with him?”

“Longer than Renly?” Brienne shrugs again, looking as baffled and surprised as Sansa feels. “I think so, at least. There was…there was definitely something between us at the ball before Galladon’s departure. But then he went off to war, and he was so far away, and Renly was close and kind and familiar. Or so I assume. I hadn’t really thought about it until earlier today.”

Sansa nods slowly, pulling her friend into an embrace. “We’ll work all this out. You don’t need to hide this or go on alone, Brienne. I’m here for you, whether you decide to remain engaged to Renly or go off to Pentos with Hyle Hunt or chase after Jaime Lannister or return to Tarth and live the rest of your life unmarried and content with whatever it is you do out there. As long as you’re happy, then I’m on your side.”

Brienne sniffs into her shoulder, and she pulls her friend in even closer. “Thank you, Sansa,” Brienne mumbles, her voice muffled slightly. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

Sansa draws back and smiles at her friend, as dear to her as her own sister is. “I do, actually. You did the same for me when you defended me to your father against his very valid reasons for not trusting me. I’m just repaying the favour at long last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Galladon, the only observant person in this entire story, who managed to realize jaime and brienne were already in love when even I, the writer, wasn't aware of this fact. also shoutout to Sansa for being a really good friend and not immediately screaming like I probably would have if I were in her position. they're the true heroes of this story, it seems.


	15. Sonya Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _hard as it is..._
> 
> “I have to talk to you,” Sansa says quickly, rising to her feet and beginning to pace back and forth. Arya notices, suddenly, that she’s gripping a letter in her hands, worrying the edges of the paper as she moves. “It’s about Brienne.”
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a conversation between sisters, a sharing of revelations, and the formulation of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fact that I split the Sonya role between Sansa and Arya means that Sonya is, in fact, not alone in this chapter, but this is a technicality that we shall not bother with at present. my other confession for this chapter is that this song used to be one of the ones I skipped whenever it came up, which was an incorrect opinion and I am very glad I rectified it later on.
> 
> I was going to post this chapter tomorrow but why stick to a schedule when you can throw things into the universe whenever you want. besides, the states have offered us good news for once, so I shall embrace that fact and post now instead.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_I will protect your name and your heart  
Because I miss my friend…_

After a long afternoon visiting with the Tyrell family in hopes of securing a marriage between herself and one of the various cousins, Arya wants nothing more than to lie down and sleep until morning, when she’ll be free of familial duty and can run off to spar at the club for an entire afternoon. Consequently, she’s not prepared to step into her room and see her sister sitting on the bed, a worried look in her eyes and a deep furrow between her brows. 

“Sansa,” she says, the statement half a question in itself. “What are you doing in my room?”

“I have to talk to you,” Sansa says quickly, rising to her feet and beginning to pace back and forth. Arya notices, suddenly, that she’s gripping a letter in her hands, worrying the edges of the paper as she moves. “It’s about Brienne.”

“Brienne?” Their guest _has_ been acting odd lately, and was positively skittish this morning when Arya inquired about visiting the club together, but surely that isn’t enough to warrant so much concern. “What about Brienne?”

Sansa stops pacing and thrusts the letter at her. “Just…just read it. I’ll explain after.”

Arya raises an eyebrow and plops down on her bed, unfolding the letter and beginning to read. Almost immediately, she raises the eyebrow again and glances up at her sister, her frown mirroring the one still on Sansa’s face. 

“Is this…a _love_ letter? From Baron Hyle Hunt?”

Sansa wrings her hands together, beginning to pace once more. “Well, yes and no. It appears to be from him, but Brienne suspects he had someone else write it for him. Apparently he’s not a particularly skillful seducer.”

“But why would he want to seduce _Brienne_? I love her dearly, but she’s not exactly most men’s idea of a beautiful woman, and the baron seems the sort to only be interested in beautiful women.”

“That might be part of it,” her sister says, still pacing the length of her room. It’s going to drive Arya insane if she keeps this up, but she says nothing. “I think he’s hoping to get a hold of her fortune, and thinks that since she’s considered ugly and likely hasn’t known much affection it’ll be easy to persuade her to run away with him if he claims to love her. She’s clever enough not to fall for it, but still.”

She doesn’t elaborate, merely sends a meaningful look across the room. But Arya knows her sister well, knows what she isn’t saying, and so she says it on her behalf. “You’re afraid he might do something rash, should she refuse his offer.”

“I am, yes.” Sansa shakes her head, finally sinking onto the bed and burying her face in her hands. “If she doesn’t respond in two days, he might do anything. I need your help, Arya. I can’t protect Brienne from him on my own, not without knowing his plan or knowing what men like him usually do.”“Brienne can protect herself, can’t she?” Arya asks, even though she agrees with her sister on this one. Brienne is very good at fighting, at keeping herself protected from physical attacks, but emotions and politics have never been her forte, and she will likely think that refusing this Baron Hunt will be the end of the whole affair. 

“She can,” Sansa murmurs, “but I still worry for her. Especially with the fact that she’s breaking off her engagement…”

“She’s doing _what_?”

Arya’s shout makes her sister wince, looking guilty. “I forgot to tell you that, I guess. She told me she’s going to end her betrothal to Renly, saying that she cannot marry a man who doesn’t love her, and that she doesn’t love either.”

“I thought she loved him, though? She told me so when I asked her last week.”

Sansa nods, looking guilty as she stares down at her palms. “I’m afraid that one is my fault. I made her look at the candle in the mirror, and the vision she saw caused all of her doubts to swirl to the forefront of her mind.”

Arya nods thoughtfully, recalling her own vision, of dancing with a blacksmith, of Bran among the ruins of Winterfell, of Sansa dancing with another woman and Brienne dancing with Jaime Lannister. “What did she see? Why would it make her doubt?”

“She saw Renly walking away from her when Baron Hunt arrived, but then the baron left and Jaime Lannister was there, reaching out for her. Then the candle burned out, and it faded. She thinks that her distance from Renly and the baron’s attempted seduction means at least the first part of her vision is coming true.”

“Renly was the one to walk away, though,” Arya points out, frowning deeply as she considers Sansa’s revelations. “Which means something’s going to happen to make him unwilling to continue the engagement, likely before Brienne’s letter ever reaches him on the front lines.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, although I couldn’t say for certain.”

They both pause and stare at each other before Sansa shakes her head again. “We can’t tell Mother about this. I don’t want her to be angry with Brienne when she’s done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t think she’ll be angry with Brienne,” Arya says, her gaze flicking back down to the letter on her lap. “She likes Brienne, and she’s also smart enough to understand who exactly is at fault here. True, she won’t be delighted to learn that she’s broken the engagement, but if Brienne explains her rationale I’m sure she’ll come around. And besides, we’ll need her help if the baron does come for Brienne like you suspect.”

Sansa takes a deep breath before nodding, slow and methodical. “You’re right, I suppose. We can’t exactly hold him off on our own—unless you decide to chase him through the halls with a sword. In that case, I won’t make any guarantees for how long he’ll try to push past you.”

Arya laughs loudly, though her worries remain. Brienne is stronger than nearly anyone else she knows, but her friend has never been good at politics or intrigue, not in the way Sansa is. She likely expects that denying the baron will be enough, that he’ll accept her refusal and move on with his life as most men would. But Baron Hunt is not most men. He’s in severe debt, and that makes him desperate and dangerous in a way that poor Brienne, for all of her awful experiences with cruel men, has yet to encounter. 

“She should have married Prince Jaime,” Sansa says abruptly, startling Arya out of her thoughts. “He’d be better for her than Renly. Certainly better for her than Baron Hunt.”

“How so?” She believes her sister—she’s sparred with Jaime enough times to know exactly how good a match he’d be for Brienne—but Sansa’s certainty unnerves her, particularly since she was the one to inherit their father’s stringent beliefs regarding certain members of high society.

“Because he could grow to love her,” Sansa replies, her voice serious. “And because Brienne’s in love with him, but made herself fall for Renly instead because she thought he’d never accept someone like her as a bride. She’d be happy with him, happier than she’d be off at Storm’s End with Renly. And she’s our friend. Shouldn’t we want her to be happy?”

Arya nods in agreement, privately considering what she should tell her sister of the information she knows. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Sansa—they moved past the childhood rivalry stage a long time ago—but her sister might feel obligated to share what Arya has to say with Brienne. And this information isn’t something Brienne should hear from either of them.

She draws in a deep breath and turns to her sister before she loses her nerve. “You’re right. Except on the first count, because he doesn’t need to grow to love her if he’s already in love with her.”

Sansa gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. “Are you _serious_? How do you know this?”

“I spar with Jaime sometimes at the club,” she explains as Sansa gapes at her. “I suppose I consider him a friend, at this point? We don’t share much personal information, since he still thinks of me as a little kid, but when he heard Brienne was going to visit us he got…happier, I guess? He definitely perked up and said something about having to visit us now in order to see her again. And it wasn’t the reaction I’d expected someone to have about their friend’s little sister—not unless they were in love with said little sister and didn’t want anyone else to find out about it.”

Sansa’s shaking her head, looking incredulous. “If I had known this earlier…”

“What could we have done? Brienne was determined to see herself as in love with Renly until very recently, and Jaime’s still struggling after losing his hand. Neither of them are ready for this, and it would be cruel of us to push them together before they are prepared for a courtship. All we can do is protect Brienne from Baron Hunt, as you said.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sansa murmurs, before standing and beginning to pace the length of Arya’s room once again. “We should focus on the baron and what he might do before we attempt to matchmake between Brienne and the prince. I will not see our friend ruined because the baron refused to take no for an answer.”

Arya and her sister exchange grim looks before she too bounds to her feet and strides for the door. “Well, let’s begin. If we discuss this with Mother, she’ll be able to help us, and between the three of us we might be able to come up with a plan. Brienne’s been such a good friend to our family. It would be a terrible betrayal on our parts if we were to let her down now, when she may need us more than ever.”

“I like this side of you,” Sansa tells her as they walk out into the hall. “It’s reassuring to know that you’re willing to support me in going against the baron, seeing that you’re much better at dealing with unruly visitors than I am. If you speak to him like you just did, that alone may be enough to drive him away.”

“We’ll do this together,” Arya responds, clasping her sister’s hand briefly before turning and beginning the trek to their mother’s solar. “For Brienne’s sake, and for our own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for someone who hates ending chapters with dialogue I sure seem to do that often, don't i. 
> 
> the next chapter might come out soon! it also might not! now that I've broken from my schedule once who knows what I'm going to do! certainly not me! it will be posted eventually, though. I don't intend to sit on the last ten chapters until next year. 
> 
> this feels like an odd place to end this note but endings are hard so I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you this.


	16. Preparations/Balaga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ah, Anatole! where are you off to?_
> 
> He has not seen Lannister since the duel, when they both made foolish choices and were forced to mature because of it. Considerable reflection brought on by fear of his grandmother’s wrath has proven to him that he, not Lannister, was at fault for what went down, as his challenging words had been unnecessary and meant to provoke an already wounded man. And no matter his other crimes, Lannister had clearly not intended to shoot him. 
> 
> *
> 
> featuring some introspection from Loras, discussion of the plan, and the conflicting intersection of Hyle's certainty and Loras's doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate title for this chapter: Loras experiences character development. spoiler alert: he actually likes it!
> 
> some warnings for this chapter: Loras vaguely reflects on homophobia that's sadly pretty typical for this period, and hyle says a few things that are extremely misogynistic and creepy, so be aware of that. otherwise, thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_I am not joking, I am talking sense  
This is serious business, a dangerous business…_

Loras is waiting for Hyle near the end of the drive when he catches sight of Jaime Lannister walking in through the main gates. Cersei had said her brother would be gone all evening, but it seems she was incorrect, as the prince is currently returning home after an afternoon engagement.

Hyle is making his way up the drive to join Loras, but he will not get there in time for them to avoid an unwelcome confrontation between Loras and Prince Jaime, so Loras finds himself diving into the bushes instead and hiding from Lannister in a manner that would most certainly see him mocked mercilessly should his grandmother ever catch wind of it.

He has not seen Lannister since the duel, when they both made foolish choices and were forced to mature because of it. Considerable reflection brought on by fear of his grandmother’s wrath has proven to him that _he_ , not Lannister, was at fault for what went down, as his challenging words had been unnecessary and meant to provoke an already wounded man. And no matter his other crimes, Lannister had clearly not intended to shoot him. 

Still, they have avoided an awkward conversation thus far, and Loras is more than happy for things to remain that way. It does not matter at present, though, as Hyle has arrived and is conversing with the prince in the polite, stilted way they always seem to greet each other with.

“Prince Jaime!” Hyle exclaims, flinging his arms wide as if to embrace the prince, standing stiff and unwelcoming before him. “It is a delight to see you, as always. Your sister claimed you would not be back at all this evening, and I had hoped to bid you farewell before I left.”

Lannister inclines his head, looking all too eager to escape the conversation and flee to the relative safety of his manor. “Baron Hunt. I had intended to be gone all evening, but it seems my companion for the night encountered urgent business elsewhere. Where are you off to? You’re dressed for a long journey, and your words are eerily reminiscent of those I shared with my family before I departed for the war.”

Crouched behind the bushes, Loras shakes his head at the trap Hyle has found himself in. Of _course_ Lannister has realizes Hyle intends to flee Westeros tonight. Contrary to what many people—including Loras himself, for a time—believe, Jaime Lannister is no fool, and if he has guessed at Hyle’s plan, it is only a matter of time before he draws the connection to Brienne Tarth as well, the countess Hyle has shown an unusual amount of interest in lately.

Hyle appears unconcerned, however, as he smiles broadly and openly. “I have met a woman, Jaime! Charming, beautiful, rich, she has everything a man could possibly desire, and I cannot bear to be without her for a day longer. Tonight, I will be riding to Duskendale and setting sail for Pentos, where we can be together at last and no one will dare try to tear us apart.”

The prince raises a brow with an all-too-knowing expression, though Hyle’s use of the word ‘beautiful’ should throw him off the scent, at least a little. “Duskendale, aye? That’s quite close to the front, closer than I thought someone like you would ever venture. And does this woman you cannot bear to be without know you’re already married to another, or are you going to wait until the honeymoon to reveal that particular tidbit of information?”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Loras mutters, hoping his voice is quiet enough to go unheard by the golden Lannister prince. He’s been telling Hyle the same thing ever since he came up with this foolish plan, but between his friend’s ego and Cersei egging him on there’s been no convincing him of the reason behind Loras’s concerns. Perhaps Lannister will have better luck getting through to him.

Or perhaps not. “Oh, it won’t matter once we’re in Pentos,” Hyle says airily, waving a hand and brushing off the matter as he always does. “No one will know us there, and we need not fear Westerosi coming and recognizing us as long as the war rages.”

“And after the war?” Lannister asks, amusement crossing his features and making him look more like his old self than Loras has seen in more than a year. “What will you do then, when the borders are less restrictive and people feel more comfortable travelling freely? You cannot hide away in Pentos so easily then.”

“We’ll work something out, I’m sure,” Hyle says with all the assurance of a man who has not thought anything through and in fact has no idea what he might do should his reckless plan backfire, as Loras is now almost certain it will. If he were a worse friend, he would already have abandoned Hyle to his own foolishness, but unfortunately he feels a sense of loyalty to his friend and so he is here, lurking in the bushes and shaking his head at Hyle’s empty bravado.

Lannister appears to agree with him, but he merely shakes his head and steps aside. “I wish you luck then, Baron Hunt. It sounds like you may need it.”

Loras waits until the prince is far enough down the drive that he likely won’t recognize anyone there should he look back before he bursts out of the bushes and hauls Hyle out onto the street. “What were you _thinking_?” he demands, whirling around to glare at his friend. “Jaime Lannister is no fool, and if he pauses to think about what he heard from you he’ll put the pieces together and realize what it is you plan to do with Countess Tarth tonight. And if he knows, he’ll tell the Starks, and if the Starks know, then your little plan is ruined before it ever began. Why would you tell him _any_ of that?”

“He won’t figure it out,” Hyle says casually, but his frown is all too revealing of the truth his words attempt to hide. “I described the woman as beautiful. That should be enough to throw anyone off the scent.”

Shaking his head, Loras marches Hyle further down the road, towards the club and their established meeting place with Hyle’s driver. “Beauty is subjective, and a foolish standard to judge people by.”

“You’re being strangely introspective for someone known to recklessly leap into duels without thinking,” Hyle mutters, pulling away from the arm heavy across his shoulders. “Or did Lannister’s bullet in your shoulder make you afraid of the consequences again?”

“Neither,” Loras snaps, and doesn’t say anything more. The true answer is that his recovery allowed him a great deal of time to think, to reflect on his past recklessness and consider the danger in his actions. The duel was his fault, no matter how he tries to convince himself otherwise. _He_ was the one to sling underhanded insults, not Lannister. _He_ was the one smirking and eager, setting his opponent’s blood to boiling as well. _He_ was the one who shot with intention to kill, whereas Lannister didn’t look like he wanted to shoot at all.

He’s been far too unthinking in many areas, it seems. His jealousy of Countess Tarth, for instance, over the fact that she can have Renly while he must settle for the scraps on the side, whatever is safe to give without too much suspicion falling upon them, is cruel and unfounded and unfair to the countess. She does not know the truth, after all. Why is it she must take the blame for society’s cruelties and prejudices? Why has he been so quick to judge a woman he has never actually spoken to?

Harbouring anger has brought him nothing but pain and guilt, and he has been stoking the fires of his anger for a very long time. Perhaps it’s time he tried something different, tried to think more before he acted rather than simply charging in and hoping for the best. 

“You have everything prepared, correct?” Hyle asks him, after several minutes of walking in silence. “I would rather not be scrambling to gather things while also trying to flee the wrath of Catelyn Stark.”

_You would not have to worry about that, had you bothered to do a lick of planning yourself._

“It is prepared,” he says dully instead, knowing from experience that telling Hyle of his own stupidity will do absolutely nothing to sway him from his course. “Your bags are with Duram already, as well as things for the countess. All that is left to do is wait for tonight—provided you still want to go ahead with this.”

“Of course I do,” Hyle says, looking affronted at the very _suggestion_ that he might back down from the worst idea he’s ever had. “I need the countess in order to pay off my debts, and this may be my only chance to get ahold of her. The Iron Bank has already started sniffing around, looking for payments I cannot give them.”

“And even you are not fool enough to cross the Iron Bank.”

His jab goes unnoticed, as is usual when Hyle has begun to think of himself. “We will be quite happy in Pentos, I think. I know I am not what most women would prefer in a lover, but I am here, which is more than many who went to the front can say, and my wife has found me adequate on the few occasions we lay together. I also have all parts in working order—more than can be said for Lannister, poor man.”

“I’m sure Lannister’s cock is perfectly functional. It’s his hand that is lost, and he does not need that to be a more than adequate lover should he need to be.”

Hyle raises a brow at that, looking coolly amused in a manner eerily reminiscent of Cersei. “You sound like you’ve thought about this matter.”

Loras shakes his head and stalks forward, unwilling to argue with Hyle about this when it’s already a losing battle. “Didn’t the countess reject your proposal? What makes you so certain she’ll be willing to come with you when we show up at the Stark manor?”

“She won’t be able to refuse,” Hyle says, smiling widely even as his eyes remain cold. “I will not let my best chance at paying my debts escape me, not for anything.”

Hyle’s words send a shiver running up Loras’s spine, and once again he wonders why he ever agreed to do this. His misguided jealousy faded with the realization of its misguidedness, and the entire affair has turned from helping Hyle elope with a young woman who wants to be with him to helping Hyle kidnap a noble woman with a father sure to pay any fortune to see her abductors brought to justice. 

Are he and Hyle really such fools as this? Abducting Countess Tarth will bring down the wrath of so many upon them, more than they can hope to evade for long. The countess’s father and brother, both large, strong, and powerful men capable of taking them both down in an instant. The Starks, who may have lost much of what they once had but still have many powerful friends they can call upon. The Martells and the emperor, acquaintances of the countess’s brother who will not look kindly upon the men kidnapping anyone, but especially not a countess. And Jaime Lannister, a dear friend of her brother, who Loras has begun to suspect would very much like to be more than a friend to the countess herself.

They will not stand a chance should this go badly, and he is almost certain that it will go badly. How can it not? This is a foolish, desperate plan, made by a foolish, desperate man who has just announced his willingness to take any measure necessary to obtain what he wants. 

And the poor countess, having to deal with all this…it is not fair to her. Even at the height of his jealous fury, he should have been able to recognize the cruelty of Hyle’s plan, the cruelty of ripping a young woman away from her family and her friends and her betrothed, all to suit his own purposes without a single thought for her comfort or desires. Hyle has already said her denial of him will not stop him from claiming what he wants. How is she going to handle that, after everything else he has shoved in her path?

“Stop thinking and cheer up!” Hyle tells him merrily as they draw near the club. “By tomorrow, all this will be over, and I will be in Pentos preparing to claim my fortune at last. Now come. Duram is waiting for us.”

***

_More than once!  
Galloped faster than ordinary men would dare…_

They meet Hyle’s driver inside the club at a table tucked into the back corner, far from where they sat with Cersei and her brother the last time Loras came here. Though he briefly frets about the memory of his duel with Lannister being too strong, sitting far from where it occurred does wonders to ease his recollections, and he’s able to put it out of his mind as they join Hyle’s driver at his table.

Cersei had once remarked that Duram Waters was far too interesting a man to be working for someone as plain and dull as Hyle, something that Loras thinks she was decidedly correct about as he observes the pair talking in front of him. Hyle’s driver is a cheery and reckless fellow, known for pushing his horses to the absolute limit as he drives and for travelling across Westeros at near-impossible speeds because of it. He’s unsure of precisely how such a remarkable person came to be in service to Hyle, of all people, especially knowing Hyle lacks the funds to pay a driver so skilled as Duram is. 

“All is ready,” the driver says now, raising his glass up in what might be a toast or might be an arm swinging about drunkenly. “The horses are fresh and ready to run to Duskendale like the wind itself, so there is no need to worry about yourself or your second bride being caught along the way. The only way this will not work out is if she has already betrayed us and our plans!”

Hyle and Duram both laugh loudly and clink their glasses together, but Loras remains silent and sullen beside them. The countess has already refused Hyle, and the possibility of her having told someone about the plan is much higher than either of his companions seem to believe it is. Even Cersei, who has a talent for being obtuse when she does not want to hear a truth, agrees with him, which is why she is back at her brother’s house rather than with them as they prepare to set off. Hyle’s certainty about this affair does not bode well, not at all.

Duram leans across the table and grins at Loras, or perhaps a little to the left of Loras. “Come now, my dear count, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts. You wrote the letter, you arranged the bags and the ship and the license. Why are you hesitating now?”

It’s a shame that Duram is so eager to aid in the abduction, because Loras quite likes him ordinarily. “I am simply concerned about what will happen after, once the countess realizes the true purpose behind her wedding. Women tend not to be very forgiving of men that use and manipulate them, and this particular woman is still very much attached to her betrothed.”

“You worry too much,” Hyle tells him, draining his glass before burping loudly. Loras winces at the sound and looks away. _It’s no wonder his wife despises him and the countess wants nothing to do with him_. “I’ll work it all out. Besides, you should be happy about this! With the countess gone, Renly can be yours at last.”

Loras shakes his head and refuses to respond. No, he cannot have Renly all to himself, with or without the countess. The nobility are not very forgiving of those who love differently than the rest, and Renly’s brothers have been pressuring him to marry for years. It will be someone else, even if the countess is gone. He will never be allowed to love Renly in the light, not as long as society believes them wrong for feeling the way they do.

Duram looks like he wants to say something more, but Hyle shushes him before that happens. “Leave it,” he says, dropping his glass on the table and rising to his feet. “He’s been morose and thoughtful all day, which isn’t like him at all. Besides, evening is coming. It’s time we made our move at last.”


	17. The Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _well, comrades, we've had our fun..._
> 
> Hyle smiles broadly as Duram and Loras stand and follow him through the club, bidding farewell to those they know, those he will likely never see again after tomorrow. Then, he will be in Pentos with Countess Tarth, wedded and bedded and ready to claim the fortune she stands to inherit, the fortune that will finally save him from the Iron Bank’s wrath. None of them will be able to touch him then, not the war or those he owes or anyone else who might come seeking him out. Not even the countess’s damnable brother will find them there.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring Hyle as an amateur villain in the making, an attempted abduction, and the fearsome wrath of Catelyn Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by illness and exhaustion. also by my lack of desire to work on the things I actually need to get done. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter: hyle says and thinks some truly terrible and misogynistic things about Brienne, his unnamed wife, and women in general, and this chapter made me want to go gargle soap when writing it. if you want to punch hyle in the face as much as I do, we can go start a club in the comments section, because he's truly awful in this chapter.
> 
> I would say enjoy, but I took little enjoyment from this chapter except from the end, so...thank you for reading anyways, though!

_Here’s to happiness, freedom, and life…_

Hyle smiles broadly as Duram and Loras stand and follow him through the club, bidding farewell to those they know, those he will likely never see again after tomorrow. Then, he will be in Pentos with Countess Tarth, wedded and bedded and ready to claim the fortune she stands to inherit, the fortune that will finally save him from the Iron Bank’s wrath. None of them will be able to touch him then, not the war or those he owes or anyone else who might come seeking him out. Not even the countess’s damnable brother will find them there.

Of course, taking her fortune requires putting up with the countess, which will be its own kind of struggle. She’s ugly and dull, and it has taken a great deal of effort on his part to pretend to be infatuated with her. How he’s going to put up with her after they’re wed is beyond him, but her fortune more than makes up for her many other shortcomings.

He tells Loras as much once they’ve left the club, even though the count merely snorts and stalks off to talk with Duram as he prepares the carriage for their journey. But Loras has been in a strange mood of late, ever since his duel with Jaime Lannister, and he’s no longer certain his friend can be trusted in keeping the secret of this mission. Not like Cersei can be.

In truth, he’d come to the city hoping to sway a powerful noblewoman such as Cersei Baratheon away from her marriage so he could settle his debts, but even those trapped in the most unhappy of marriages proved unwilling to run off with a mere baron. The countess, despite her many faults, remains his best chance for claiming a fortune and getting the Iron Bank off his back at long last.

She’d refused him in her letter, of course, but what does that matter? She’ll be willing enough once they reach Pentos and he’s persuaded her of his merits. That’s all women need in life, a man who can show them the ways of the world, who can give them a taste of what they’ll enjoy that’s just good enough to keep them from seeking anything better.

“Did you hear?” Duram says to him loudly as Loras boards the carriage and he waits to do the same. “They say there’s to be a comet tonight. It’s at the start of its journey across our fair skies. A good omen for you and the countess, eh?”

Hyle nods, clapping a hand on Duram’s shoulder before clambering into the carriage after Loras. “I hope it is, though I do not feel that we are in need of omens. A private room, perhaps!”

Duram laughs before shutting the carriage door and moving to take the driver’s position in the front, but Loras sends another glare in his direction. “Is it not enough,” the count says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a very dimwitted child, “that you intend to take Countess Tarth from her betrothed and her family and carry her off to some far-away country where she will know no one but yourself? Must you also jape so cruelly about her behind her back?”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Hyle demands, uncapping a flask and offering a drink to Loras, who shakes his head. “I recall you were quite eager indeed to see the woman who stole Renly from you punished not that long ago. Why is it that you’ve grown a conscience now, of all times?”

Loras shakes his head again, huffing out a breath and turning to stare out the carriage window as Duram sends the horses into a trot. “It’s not too late, Hyle. You can still stop this before it all goes too far.”

Hyle rolls his eyes and takes a long drag from the flask before capping it and shoving it back into the pocket of his coat. “You used to be fun, Tyrell. Why has one duel with Jaime Lannister changed all that?”

“I used to be a fool, you mean,” Loras growls, refusing to look back at Hyle as he speaks. And that’s the end of it, for a little while at least.

As the carriage weaves through the streets of King’s Landing, Hyle leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, imagining what his life will be like once he’s claimed the countess’s fortune for his own. He’ll be living like a king in Pentos, able to hire whatever women he wants to fill his bed in lieu of his new bride, who is far too ugly for him to stomach for long. And he can bet on the races again, as he hasn’t been able to for several years due to his debts becoming too widely known.

His wife won’t be able to bother him anymore, being stuck in Westeros by a raging war and a lack of knowledge as to where he’s gone. It’ll be good to be rid of her. She was amusing and sweet for a while, but after a year began to challenge him more than a woman should, and if her father didn’t own the land upon which they live he would have had their marriage annulled years ago. 

He’ll be spared from so many dreary things after this. Loras Tyrell and his newfound wisdom won’t be enough to stop him, and neither will the countess’s protests. Besides, he’ll convince her to come with him quickly enough. He’s had many a woman refuse him over the years, but he’s always persuaded them eventually. Countess Tarth will be no different.

“You have everything prepared, correct?” he asks, turning to Loras. “I do not want to be trying to find something essential as we flee the capital only to realize it was left behind.”

Loras sighs heavily. “Yes, everything is packed and ready. Passports, money, fur cloak, and all the rest.”

“Fur cloak? Why would we need a fur cloak when we’re going to Pentos?”

“Do you know _nothing_ about how elopements work?” Loras demands, turning to face him with an incredulous expression. “It’s winter, and though there’s not much snow yet the air is cold enough to freeze the poor girl when she runs outside in nothing but her gown, as she inevitably will. You use the cloak to shelter her and keep her warm, which will in turn keep her from running back to her family when the cold grows too much for her.”

Hyle inclines his head, wondering briefly why Loras knows all this. “Fair enough. I’d rather my bride not flee from me due to the chill winter air. You’re a good friend, Tyrell, to do all this for me.”

Loras mutters something under his breath, but nods and claps a hand on Hyle’s shoulder before resuming his staring out at the passing city. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the rumble of the carriage wheels and the occasional snort from one of the horses when Duram flicks the reins to urge them on.

Soon enough, they arrive in the circle of streets around the Red Keep, where the wealthiest and oldest noble families make their homes. The Stark family, Countess Tarth’s hosts, are no longer as wealthy as they once were, but they are still among the oldest noble lineages in all of Westeros, and they are not yet in such dire straits that they need to sell their manor. They still make their home in the inner circle, the one that Hyle has always been excluded from due to not being as wealthy or as storied as the high-and-mighty princes and princesses are.

“What are we going to do if this goes wrong?” Loras asks him abruptly as they near the Stark manor. “There’s no guarantee that your plan will succeed, and if we are discovered and chased off then we need somewhere to hide.”

“The Lannister manor should be fine,” Hyle says, waving a hand to brush the matter aside. “Cersei will be there after completing her little task, and her brother is supposed to be out all evening so he will not bother us. Do not worry so much about all this. Everything will be fine.”

As the carriage slows, nearing the gate, he sees a young man dressed in servant’s livery standing there, his hands fidgeting where he has them clasped before him. “You are Baron Hunt, yes?” the servant asks nervously, his gaze flitting about and never meeting Hyle’s eyes as he hops out of the carriage. “The p—the countess will meet you on the side porch. I will escort you there.”

Hyle turns and winks at Loras, who rolls his eyes again and settles further into the carriage seat. Loras and Duram will remain by the gate in case a quick escape is needed, which means it is up to him to follow this timid servant up to where the countess will meet him. 

It seems he was correct, as always. Countess Tarth may have initially refused him, but she is aware of what is best for her as ugly women always are, and she has come to her senses at last and realized he is the best man she’ll ever get. Renly Baratheon was never going to marry her, and if she has any sense at all then she will have realized as much by now. _He_ will wed her, however. _He_ will show her the wider world, as well as her place in it, and she will thank him for it, because there are no better prospects for a woman like her.

The back side of the manor is shrouded in darkness as he approaches, though there is a dim light revealing a figure standing on the porch, awaiting their arrival. He grins to himself and picks up the pace, startling the servant into darting up the steps ahead of him. _Soon, we’re so close…_

He comes to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs as Princess Catelyn Stark steps out of the shadow to stand in the pool of light created by the lamp hanging above the porch. “Baron Hunt,” the princess says, cold and imperious and perfectly polite as she draws herself up to her full height and stares down the length of her nose at him. “I would ask what brings you to my back porch at this hour, but I’m afraid I already know the answer. Brienne will not see you, nor will she come with you. I would recommend you leave now, before I have Pod fling you from the porch and leave your body for your friends at the gate to come collect.”

“So the bitch betrayed me, then,” he snarls, watching with vindictive pleasure as the servant flinches and glances back inside the manor, where the countess and Princess Catelyn’s damnable daughters must be lurking. “You’d think a beast like her would know what is good for her.”

Princess Catelyn steps forward, her blue eyes flashing dangerously at him, and for a brief moment he trembles before her, terrified of this woman who looks more than eager to carry out her earlier threat. “You will not speak so of my guest, not in my home.”

“I’ll speak of that monster however I want,” he flings back at her, not heeding the warning voice in his mind telling him _flee, flee while you still can_. “Does that ugly bitch really think her beloved Renly loves her? Does she really think any man can love someone who looks like her?”

There’s a gasp and a shout from inside the manor, and Princess Catelyn flings out an arm to halt her eldest daughter as she comes rushing out with fury burning in her eyes. “Go now, Baron Hunt,” the princess tells him, her voice shaking with what he presumes is fury as he slowly backs towards the stairs. “Go now, before I let my daughter loose so she can kill you as you deserve.”

He turns and runs before she can make good on that threat, stumbling when he reaches the bottom of the stairs but continuing on despite the laughter of the young Stark girl above him. Not until he reaches the end of the drive and his carriage waiting by the gates does he slow, and he maintains a brisk pace until Loras flings open the carriage door and pulls him in.

“Go!” Hyle shouts at Duram, who sends the horses into a brisk trot without questioning his orders. As the carriage rolls away from the Stark manor, he lets his head fall back against the seat and breathes deeply until the terror of Princess Catelyn’s threats has faded and anger has set in, burning low and deep in his gut.

“What happened?” Loras asks, and for all his protestations he genuinely looks concerned as he places a tentative hand on Hyle’s shoulder. “Is the countess not coming?”

“She betrayed me,” he growls, shrugging off Loras’s hand and glaring fiercely at the opposite wall of the carriage. “I will not stand for this.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Loras tells him, shaking his head. “She refused you. Let the matter go and return to your wife.”

“We’re going to the club,” Hyle says, ignoring Loras’s words and the deep furrow between his brows as he leans back in his own seat. “I’ll show her what the price is for crossing me. And then we’ll pay a visit to Cersei, and if we have any luck then she will have completed the task I asked her to and the whole matter will be done with soon enough.”

That thought is the one he holds onto as Duram guides the carriage through the streets; not Loras’s thoughtful grimace, not Catelyn Stark’s wrath, but the possibility of revenge for his humiliation thanks to the orchestrations of Countess Brienne Tarth.


	18. In My House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you shameless good-for-nothing..._
> 
> Brienne doesn’t realize she’s shaking until the baron has driven away and Catelyn turns to her with an expression of deep concern on her face. Nor does she hear what Catelyn and Sansa say as they guide her away from the door and into the parlour, where Pod is hovering in the corner after laying out tea and a soft blanket that Sansa immediately drapes around Brienne’s shoulders.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring the fallout from Hyle's actions, a plan of action, and a message sent to Jaime Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter diverges quite a bit from the stage musical, since Catelyn is much more understanding of Brienne than Marya is in great comet, and she doesn't consider brienne at fault like Marya does Natasha. other than this I have no notes for this chapter because I'm very tired and also still sick.
> 
> actually I did think of something: brienne is very distressed in this chapter, and while I don't think she's full-on panicking, it could still be upsetting if you're particularly sensitive to that kind of thing, so be aware of that when reading. 
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_Your father, I know him  
He will challenge him to a duel and what then?_

Brienne doesn’t realize she’s shaking until the baron has driven away and Catelyn turns to her with an expression of deep concern on her face. Nor does she hear what Catelyn and Sansa say as they guide her away from the door and into the parlour, where Pod is hovering in the corner after laying out tea and a soft blanket that Sansa immediately drapes around Brienne’s shoulders.

Catelyn drops to her knees in front of Brienne, who finally looks up as her terror fades and dread begins to sink in. “Brienne,” her hostess says quietly, “are you alright?”

She wants to lie, wants to pretend she was unaffected by Baron Hunt’s cruel words, but her shaking hands prove otherwise, as do the tears that unexpectedly well in her eyes at Catelyn’s words. “No,” she whispers, hunching her shoulders and curling into herself in hopes that she can block out the rest of the world for a little while, until this all boils over. “No, I’m not.”

“Gods,” Sansa murmurs, placing a warm hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “I can’t believe he said that to you. Attempting to abduct you was cruel enough, but to say what he did on top of it all…”

She can only nod, her throat too tight to speak properly. She’d thought that refusing the baron would be enough, that he’d recognize her lack of interest and leave her alone. She’d never imagined he’d come charging up to Catelyn’s porch like a knight in an old tale but a hundred times more awful when denied what he wanted.

 _I don’t understand_ , she wants to wail, but she does, of course she does. No man will ever be interested in her for who she is, not really. Renly wanted to use her as a shield to protect himself from the judgement of the rest of the world, and Baron Hunt wanted her fortune to pay off his debts. Neither of them loved her, and she’s starting to realize that no one ever will, not really.

Catelyn and Sansa are speaking to each other over her shoulder, but she ignores them both in favour of staring at her trembling hands, wishing she wasn’t alone, wishing there was someone else here with her. She has the Starks, of course, and she’s endlessly grateful for them, but she misses Gal, wishes he was here to protect her, wants her father by her side so she can sob onto his shoulder, mourns her mother in ways she never has before, wants Jaime, oh gods, _Jaime_ …

What will he think, when he hears of this? She already knows she’ll be blamed for this, will be described as having led the baron on even though she denied every one of his advances time and time again. Will Jaime bother to listen to her side of the story, or will he blindly believe whatever the baron claims as so many are sure to?

“I want to go home,” she breaths, barely aware she’s said it aloud. “Please. I want to go home.”

Catelyn pulls her into an embrace, running a gentle hand up her back and soothing her with soft words as she begins to sob, as the tears spill from her eyes and run over her face until she’s frail and shuddering in Catelyn’s arms while Sansa paces behind them, her eyes likely filled with worry at the sight. 

Why her, oh, why why why? There are so many wealthy young women in King’s Landing that the baron could have had his pick of, so why would he choose her, out of all the other options he had? Is it that he thinks her foolish and naive, quick to fall for any man who shows her the barest modicum of decency? Is it that he thinks her appearance makes her a weak fool who cannot differentiate between kindness and affection, or who cannot see when a man is trying to use her for his own gain? 

She’s none of those things, and her misguided feelings for Renly were different because Renly was _kind_ , genuinely kind, in a way that Baron Hunt has never so much as tried to be. All he has done is insulted her in an attempt to say the sort of things all women are supposed to fall for and tried to ruin her entire life. She has yet to see if he succeeded on the second count or not, but none of that qualifies as kindness. None of that qualifies as love.

Catelyn draws away to mutter instructions to Pod, who eagerly bounds into action after sending one last worried look in Brienne’s direction. Sansa steps forward and sits next to Brienne on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and letting her slump over, exhausted by both her tears and the stresses of the evening. 

“It’ll be alright,” Sansa tells her as she sits up and wipes at her eyes. “The baron is gone, and he won’t be able to hurt you again after this. We won’t let him. And neither will your father or Galladon, not once they hear what’s happened.”

Sansa means to comfort her, she knows, but the thought of her father and brother charging in, furious and protective, sets her to sobbing again, this time with fear for what might happen should they do so. If they challenge him, the baron will answer, and neither of them are very good with a gun despite having spent so much time at war. She’s the skilled shooter of her family, and no one will call upon her to defend herself and make her face the baron after what he did to her.

Not that many will care. It’s all too likely that the baron will spread some tale of her leading him on only to spurn him at the last moment in order to pretend that he was not the architect of his own humiliation. And he will be believed, because no one ever believes the woman’s side in these sorts of stories. Even Gal’s friends, even _Jaime_ , will be unable to see her side of things once the baron sets to spinning his tale. 

Catelyn’s about to rejoin them on the sofa when Arya bursts in, her chest heaving and her eyes blazing with fury. “That Baron Hunt has a lot of nerve,” she snarls, and Brienne’s heart plummets, already knowing what Arya is going to say. “You should hear the tales he’s spreading in the club, acting terribly hard done-by because ugly Countess Tarth led him on, let him think she’d give him a fortune for lying with her, and then turned away at the last minute when she decided she liked the prospect of her betrothed better after all. How _dare_ he, after what he did?”

Sansa surges to her feet, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “That _bastard_. Maybe you should have pushed him from the balcony after all, Mother.”“Aye,” Catelyn hisses, “I should have. Damn that man. I should have known he’d pull something like this in order to protect himself from the consequences of his actions. We’ll have to act quickly if we’re to counteract his lies.”

“Don’t,” Brienne whispers, her voice surprisingly thin. “It’s not worth it. No one will believe anything we say, not when he has Loras Tyrell and Cersei Baratheon backing him up. The Starks are disgraced, and no one will believe that I, your friend, truly did not do what the baron claims if you are the only ones vouching for me.”

The Stark women exchange dark looks, before Sansa returns to her seat beside Brienne on the sofa. “Well, we can’t do _nothing_. This will ruin you, Brienne! I can’t watch you endure that when none of this is your fault.”

“If it’s any reassurance,”Arya says tentatively, “Count Tyrell didn’t look very pleased with what the baron was saying. I believe he left shortly before I did, muttering about how his grandmother was going to be displeased to hear this sorry tale as he went.”

Catelyn sighs heavily, running a hand over her face. “It’s not much of one, but if he’s going to his grandmother it’s not likely that he’s lying to her. That woman is remarkably good at sniffing out liars.”

“We have to do _something_ , though,” Sansa insists, and her mother and sister both nod even as Brienne shakes her head furiously. “I know you don’t want us to risk ourselves for you, Brienne, but this is blatantly slandering your good name for no reason at all. At least we brought our own ruin upon ourselves!”

“But what?” Arya demands, and the cycle begins all over again. Brienne buries her face in her hands as the Starks argue and plan, unable to bear another moment of the constant reminders, the burning humiliation that’s been churning in her gut since she caught sight of the baron on the porch, demanding that Catelyn let him past. If this goes on for much longer…

She wishes desperately for someone, anyone who might protect her from this, stand between her and the rest of the world and tell her _it’s alright, I’ll protect you_. Galladon is off at the front, and her father is back on Tarth, and she doesn’t know if Renly will do such a thing for her any longer, but Jaime…

Jaime’s in King’s Landing, living not very far from the Stark manor. Jaime’s protected her before, leaping between her and a strange animal on one of his visits to Tarth with nary a moment of hesitation. She’s returned the favour countless times in their other adventures, but she never forgot that moment, when he sprang out of nowhere with reckless determination in his eyes and put himself between her and what had at the time seemed like certain death. Now, it’s merely another harmless adventure, but it had been so monumental to her young self, to be protected in that easy, careless way.

“Jaime,” she whispers, not caring anymore that the Starks might hear her, that her grief has gripped her once again, that she’s shaking apart, crumbling into a thousand tiny pieces as Sansa whips around to face her with terrified eyes. “Jaime, please. Where are you? Will you protect me?”

“Of course,” Catelyn says, looking triumphant when Brienne glances over at her. “Prince Jaime is a good friend of your brother, is he not? He’ll help us, or so I hope. I’ve never been very fond of him, but he seems to have learned caution as of late, and Arya claims he has treated her quite well whenever they spar together at the club.”

Pod races back into the room and stops short only when Catelyn beckons him closer, his gaze darting between Brienne and his employer for a moment. “Princess Catelyn. Is there anything else I can do?”

“There is,” Catelyn tells him, smiling kindly at Brienne even as she falls apart against Sansa’s shoulder. “I need you to send a message to Jaime Lannister. Tell him to come, and come quickly. He’s needed desperately.”

“But why?” Pod inquires, shooting another worried glance towards Brienne. “I thought you didn’t like him all that much.”

“I don’t,” Catelyn agrees sombrely, “but he is Galladon’s friend, and he has always been rather fond of Brienne. If he should ask, tell him his friend’s sister is in need, and that if he does not come now then she will be ruined forever.”

Brienne lets out a shaky, relieved sob at that, sinking so heavily against Sansa she’s afraid she may never rise again. _Thank the gods_. Jaime’s coming, Jaime will know what to do, Jaime’s coming, and everything will be alright. He won’t let her be hurt anymore. 

He never has.


	19. A Call To Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a letter from marya dmitryevna..._
> 
> “It’s about Countess Tarth,” Pia says when he doesn’t immediately stir, and all thoughts flee his mind for a brief moment. “Princess Catelyn didn’t say precisely what happened, but Peck says Baron Hunt’s been telling tales. Something about an elopement?”
> 
> *
> 
> featuring an urgent visit to the Starks, several revelations, and the taking on of a task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaime finally gets to do things at this point in the story, after spending half of it hanging out in the background! and we're a little bit closer to seeing things resolve between them! 
> 
> some divergence in this chapter: in the musical, Pierre's sympathy is for Andrey first rather than Natasha, whereas jaime feels for brienne and doesn't think about Renly at all. it's a minor thing, but it does set up the other differences in later chapters.
> 
> thank you for reading!

_We need your help  
There’s ruin at the door…_

Jaime’s sitting in the study again, wondering if it’s too early in the evening to retire for the night, when Pia bursts in with a message held tightly in her hands and a furrowed line between her brows that catches his attention immediately. “You need to go to the Stark manor,” she tells him in a tone that brokers no argument, and he frowns, both at her words and at the way she says them. He’s never been the sort to take a hard line with his servants, prefers them to be comfortable in his household, but he’s never heard Pia speak so authoritatively to anyone before. And the Stark manor…it’s common knowledge that Catelyn Stark has no love for any Lannister. Why would she be calling on him?

“It’s about Countess Tarth,” Pia says when he doesn’t immediately stir, and all thoughts flee his mind for a brief moment. “Princess Catelyn didn’t say precisely what happened, but Peck says Baron Hunt’s been telling tales. Something about an elopement?”

He surges to his feet, startling poor Pia, who leaps backwards with a growing look of concern. “I have to go,” he tells her urgently, already striding for the door as he does. “Tell Peck that if the baron shows up, he’s not to let the man in, alright? I’ll go see what Princess Catelyn wants from me.”

As he races through the halls of his manor, his mind whirls, the pieces of the puzzle finally, _finally_ clicking into place. Hunt’s behaviour earlier, when they’d met at the end of the drive and he’d spoken about running off to Pentos with a woman capable of paying all his debts at last. Why Cersei had hinted at Hunt’s interest in the countess when they’d gone to the club the night he duelled Loras Tyrell. Why Catelyn Stark is calling on him now, despite having obtained her husband’s disdain for him when Ned Stark died in Winterfell.

 _Poor Brienne_ , he thinks, snatching his coat and hurrying out onto the drive. She loves Renly, according to Galladon, and is delighted by the prospect of marrying him. If Hunt gets his side of the story out first, as it seems he has from Pia’s earlier words, she’ll be ruined. No one will believe the truth, not when it’s the word of a young countess against an older baron with far too many powerful friends. Renly will not wed her then, not when his sole purpose in wedding her to begin with is the societal protection she can provide him with.

And Brienne, lovely, kind Brienne, who deserves nothing but the best the world has to offer, will be left alone and heartbroken and betrayed, with no one willing to marry her or protect her after Hunt’s actions. It’s not fair for the world to ruin one of the best people he knows when he’s still here, a bitter, aging soldier with one hand and no idea how to love. It’s not fair for the world to tear down Brienne Tarth when there’s men like Hyle Hunt around, who deserves to suffer a thousand slow, painful deaths for the harm he’s done Brienne tonight.

The walk to the Stark manor isn’t nearly long enough for his frantic worry to fade, though it seems from the expression on the face of the young servant who ushers him inside that he won’t be alone in such concern. He hopes to see Brienne, hopes to ensure she’s alright in case he has to write Galladon about this later, but he’s shown to the parlour where Catelyn Stark and her younger daughter Arya pace back and forth, wringing their hands as they do.

“Princess Catelyn, Princess Arya,” he says, dropping into a half-bow before leaping into the topic he desperately wants to discuss. “Where’s Brienne? Is she alright? I heard something happened with Baron Hunt?”

“Thank the gods you’re here,” Catelyn tells him as she rushes over, which is the last reaction he _ever_ expected to get from a Stark. “Brienne’s upstairs with Sansa, hopefully getting some rest after everything that’s happened. She is decidedly _not_ alright, which is why I called on you. You’re friends with her brother, after all. You’ll support her in this matter.”

“Of course I will,” he agrees instantly, only thinking after the fact that he should have asked what, exactly, the matter of concern is. But it’s irrelevant, because why wouldn’t he support Brienne when she needs it? Besides, he already suspects what this is about, and the furious look on Arya’s face confirms it for him.

“Good,” Catelyn says, her hands fluttering about anxiously as her eyes dart to the servant still lurking behind him. “Pod, can you go ensure Brienne doesn’t need anything? And Arya, do you mind going with him so that Sansa has some support. She was so upset when they went upstairs…”Arya nods rapidly, still looking enraged, and it’s her quick compliance with her mother’s request that proves to Jaime how serious this is. He’s never known Arya Stark to be anything but challenging. For her to acquiesce so easily, she must be angry indeed. By the gods, what did Hunt _do_?

Once they’re alone, Catelyn begins pacing again, her eyes burning with a slow, simmering fury that’s finally been tipped past the point of boiling. “I presume you’ve heard the rumours about Baron Hunt and Brienne, if you mentioned him earlier?”

“In a sense,” he responds, “though that’s more from a run-in I had with him this afternoon and a brief mention from one of my servants than any actual rumours at present. I have my suspicions regarding what happened, but I’d prefer to hear from you if I’m correct or not.”

She nods, finally taking a seat on a sofa and gesturing for him to sit across from her. “Very well, then. The baron first approached Brienne at the opera we attended when she first arrived in the city, cornering her when we left her alone to talk with the Tyrells. She was not very forthcoming about what he said to her, but I understand he made her rather uncomfortable and invited her to a ball your sister was hosting two weeks from the date.”

He remembers the opera, remembers Cersei attempting to persuade him to go while he refused, still wallowing in his own misery at that point in time. She’d been planning her little ball by that point, though she hadn’t bothered to inform him of the fact until after it occurred in his own home. “I see.”

“I presume she went to the ball, though she hasn’t told me anything for certain,” Catelyn continues, “and I can’t imagine that went much better. I assumed the baron’s interest in her had been passing, no more, but the other day my daughters came in with a letter from the baron gripped in their hands, telling me that he’d been pursuing Brienne and they were worried about what might happen to her. He offered to run away to Pentos with her so they could marry, but she refused him.”

Jaime nods, thinking back to his conversation with Hunt on the drive. Catelyn’s story matches up with Hunt’s claims, including the running off to Pentos to marry a wealthy heiress in order to pay off his debts. “Good. I’m glad she had the sense to see him for who he is. Did you know he’s married, and has been this entire time?”

Catelyn hisses through clenched teeth, looking very much like she’d enjoy pummelling Hunt should he appear before her. A brief glimmer of satisfaction pulses through Jaime at that, imagining Hunt’s face after Catelyn launches herself at him and beats him into the ground, full of righteous fury on Brienne’s behalf. “That _bastard_. Apologies for repeating Arya’s words, but they’re the only suitable ones for a man such as that. He’s _married_? What on earth would his poor wife think, if she were to hear of this?”

He sighs, wondering the same thing himself. “I pray to all the gods she manages to annul their marriage after this. No woman deserves to be shackled to a man such as him. But you were telling me what happened between him and Brienne? I presume he did not give up so easily as that.”

“He didn’t, no.” Catelyn shakes her head, her hands curling into fists in her lap. “I’ve been putting Pod at the gate every evening to watch for him in case he ever comes to hurt Brienne, and tonight he came riding in with Loras Tyrell and that fool driver of his, demanding to see Brienne, telling me he’d burn the whole manor down if I didn’t hand her over. When I refused to let him in, he spat some dreadful words at me about my poor hospitality and how unfortunate Brienne was, not realizing that she was standing behind me and could hear every word. The poor dear’s been distraught ever since, even more so after we learned he was spreading rumours of her attempting to seduce him but rejecting him at the last moment when she decided Renly was a better match after all.”

Jaime swears low and vicious, pleased to see Catelyn doesn’t flinch at such coarse words. “I’d kill him myself, if I didn’t think Brienne deserved to do so herself. To think I once thought of him as a friend, too!”

“I hope her brother never learns of this,” Catelyn mutters, rising to her feet and setting to pacing once again. “Galladon’s always been hot-headed and rash. He’ll rush in and challenge the baron to a duel, and likely get himself killed in the process. His sister’s always been a better shot than he is. And where will poor Brienne be then? No prospects, no brother, nothing, all thanks to that good-for-nothing baron who thought he deserved saving from the fate he brought upon himself!”

He’s tempted to swear again, but too many years of learning courtesy keep him from doing so. “I’d marry her, if I thought she’d give me a chance. I don’t care about prospects, or else I’d have been wed long ago.”

Catelyn sends an odd look towards him, one he can’t quite interpret despite his best efforts to do so. She doesn’t say anything, however, which is good since he’s inadvertently revealed more of his private desires than he’d hoped to. Marriage is not for men like him. He’ll get on fine without ever marrying, no matter how much he’d like to.

“Will you help us?” she asks after another moment of consideration, her gaze turning pleading and desperate. “No one will believe any defence of Brienne coming from us, but you’re trusted still in King’s Landing. If you speak on her behalf, people will believe you. And someone needs to drive the baron out of the capital, though it cannot be myself since I can’t guarantee I will not kill him should I lay eyes on him one more time.”

He laughs without humour, inclining his head as he does. “I will not make such guarantees either, but I will do my best to keep from murder. As for the first matter, it will be no trouble. I can stop at the club on my way back and alleviate some of the rumours—though I do not think anything I do will be enough to keep Renly from breaking their betrothal when he hears of this.”

“Brienne already broke it,” Catelyn tells him, and he’s left reeling for the second time tonight. “She refused him at the same time she did the baron, though she never explained why. Not to me, at least. I suspect Sansa and Arya know.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, almost unaware that he’s said so aloud. “And here I thought she loved him more than anything.”

“I don’t claim to understand, either. But she did it, and now she has to deal with the consequences of doing so when Renly inevitably returns. I will not make her deal with the baron, however. That trouble is too much for her when she’s already so distraught.”

“I would never ask her to do so,” he replies, earning himself an impressed look from Catelyn as a result. “I will take my leave of you now, though I beg to be permitted to return and visit the countess later? Her brother is a dear friend of mine, and it would be remiss of me to not ensure she is alright after what happened with the baron.”

“But of course,” Catelyn says, rising to her feet with a warm smile that she’s never turned on him before. “She will be glad to hear that, I suspect. The affair with the baron has shaken her more than she is willing to say.”

“I will see you then,” he tells her, standing as well. The servant—Pod, Catelyn called him—materializes in the doorway with Jaime’s coat in his hands, and he takes it back with a nod before making his way to the front door. “Do not worry about anything other than Brienne for now. I’ll take care of the baron.” He allows himself to smile, sharp and cruel in a way he hasn’t been since before he lost his hand. “I hope he does not enjoy it.”

“Good,” Catelyn tells him, before the door opens and he steps out onto the drive. “Very good, indeed.”

He’s still smiling as he walks away, his heart pounding as steadily as the war drums on the front did, except that the doom he’s marching towards is not his own, but rather than of the fool baron who thought he could harm Countess Brienne Tarth and escape without facing any consequences for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite having expressed a desire to marry brienne in this chapter, jaime still has no idea he's in love with her. he's very good at this whole emotions thing, clearly.


	20. Find Anatole/Pierre & Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _anatole, find anatole..._
> 
> The brisk pace Jaime assumes as soon as he’s moved onto the streets of King’s Landing is not nearly fast enough to soothe the fury pulsing through every inch of his body that Catelyn Stark’s tale evoked in him. He needs his temper to ease before he finds Hunt, or else he cannot guarantee that the baron will survive their encounter, but that’s much easier said than done when the story of his attempt to humiliate Brienne is still ringing in his ears, the only sound he can hear over his pounding heartbeat. 
> 
> *
> 
> featuring jaime on the warpath, several unexpected allies, a confrontation, and a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting a day early again because I had to travel today, so I deserve this. also I would like to have this posted more quickly because I'm tired of it haunting my docs.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: contains discussion of what hyle did to brienne, as well as some of his less than savoury attitudes regarding her and other woman, namely Catelyn and Sansa in this case. there's also some violence on jaime's part, but it's well deserved. this particular hyle is a disgusting piece of shit, but thankfully this is the last we're going to see of him.
> 
> enjoy, take care, and thank you for reading!

_Nonsense, nonsense  
Nothing has happened…_

The brisk pace Jaime assumes as soon as he’s moved onto the streets of King’s Landing is not nearly fast enough to soothe the fury pulsing through every inch of his body that Catelyn Stark’s tale evoked in him. He needs his temper to ease before he finds Hunt, or else he cannot guarantee that the baron will survive their encounter, but that’s much easier said than done when the story of his attempt to humiliate Brienne is still ringing in his ears, the only sound he can hear over his pounding heartbeat. 

He’s never trusted Hyle Hunt, knows all too well no man that deep in debt can be relied on for anything. But he’d never anticipated the man would go so far as to attempt to ruin a countess in order to suit his own needs, particularly when said countess is well-liked with powerful friends and everyone in King’s Landing knows Hunt’s only looking for a quick way to make money. 

He cannot kill the baron, though, no matter how tempting the thought is. Only Brienne has the right to do so, and she is too kind and good to take a man’s life outside of combat, even if that man has wronged her terribly. If Galladon were here, racing to find the man who treated his sister so poorly, Jaime would be cautioning patience, urging his friend to think of the consequences that would stem from throwing himself into a duel before he’s thought the matter through. He must apply the same wisdom to himself, or he will be too much of a hypocrite to be considered a decent friend.

Besides, he just learned a painful lesson about the dangers of duels and recklessness. He would very much prefer to _not_ repeat the experience anytime soon. Though, he’ll admit that Hunt would deserve it far more than Loras Tyrell did.

Hunt’s rumours had begun at the club, so it is there he goes first. To his disappointment, Hunt is nowhere to be found, which means everything is calm and sedate as the members talk amongst themselves in small groups and drink over meals and gossip. The madness that overtook the place the night of his duel seems to have faded, or perhaps it was simply too much drink that made it appear so chaotic and loud.

Before he can make a quick escape, he’s beset by Theon Greyjoy and Quentyn Martell, who both shoot dark looks at where Walder Frey is holding court in the middle of the room before speaking to him.

“You’re a good friend of the Tarth family, correct?” Quentyn asks him in a low voice, and he nods in response. “Then I presume you’ve heard the rumours about the countess and Baron Hunt?”

“They’re not true,” he says immediately, not bothering to ask where they heard the rumours from. Hunt was definitely here not that long ago, and it seems Walder Frey is eager to tell the story to anyone who will listen on his behalf. “Hunt attempted to abduct the countess when she refused to elope with him behind her betrothed’s back. He’s lying in order to save his own skin.”

Theon nods, looking entirely too unsurprised to hear the truth of Hunt’s behaviour. “We suspected as much. Very few women would be desperate enough to seek the attentions of Hyle Hunt, of all people, and Countess Tarth is most definitely not in a desperate situation. Still, dear old Walder found it a highly amusing story, and has been spreading it around ever since. If you aim to counteract his tale, you’ll have to act quickly.”

Jaime opens his mouth, but Quentyn lays a hand on his arm before he can speak. “Before you say anything, know that my family will back the countess in this. Baron Hunt will not know rest in either King’s Landing or Dorne again for as long as the Martells and the current emperor hold power.”

“My sister would skin me alive if I didn’t pledge to do the same, so I’m behind the countess as well,” Theon adds, and Jaime’s shoulders slump with relief.

“Thank you both. Would you mind spreading the true story around to counteract old Walder’s tale, which has probably warped even further from the truth by this point? If we can create confusion regarding the true tale, people may be less inclined to believe Hunt’s version, particularly when he is well-known for his unreliability, both in paying his debts and remaining faithful to the women he courts.”

“Consider it done,” Quentyn tells him, and all three men exchange nods before the two slip back into the crowd, already whispering into the ears of their own friends and setting the club abuzz once again. Jaime scans the room one more time, still seeing no sign of the baron or any of his cronies, and turns to leave while Quentyn and Theon take care of the rumours.

He’s intercepted a second time before he can leave, however, this time by Loras Tyrell, who grabs his arm and whispers two words in his ear: “Your manor.” Before he can say anything else, Tyrell is gone, joining in the rumour efforts by standing next to Walder Frey and speaking loudly over him whenever he opens his mouth.

_Wasn’t Tyrell helping Hunt? Why is he aiding my cause now? What made him change his mind?_

He has no time to consider the why, though. If Hunt is at his manor, then he’s fled to Cersei in hopes that she’ll have some plan to protect him. And Cersei, fool that she can be, will either assume he’s gone out for the entire evening, or that he’ll actually be willing to help the baron in his quest to escape the consequences of his actions regarding the countess, consequences he most decidedly deserves to feel in full.

This time, he’s able to escape the club without being stopped, and he spends the hurried walk back to his manor considering how he’s to deal with the baron once he arrives there. Murder still sounds like a rather appealing option, but he’s already established he can’t resort to that immediately. Later, perhaps, if the baron proves stubborn…

 _No,_ he scolds himself, before wondering if the weight of his injuries has finally broken him. How else could he be here, arguing with himself about whether or not to kill Hyle Hunt after the man humiliated Brienne so greatly she could not bear to be seen by an old friend in the home she has been living in for the past two months? 

The thought of Brienne, and how betrayed and terrified she must feel right now, sends another pulse of rage through him, enough to carry him the rest of the way to the manor without pausing. He still has no idea how to handle Hunt, but he’ll work something out. Ideally, his solution will not involve resorting to murder, though he makes no guarantees if the baron takes things too far.

Cersei greets him as soon as he steps into the manor, fluttering about in a manner that’s obviously meant to distract him while Hunt makes his escape out a side door. Pia’s hovering in the background, however, and she shakes her head with a grim smile when he glances over at her, which tells him his servants had no plans to let that happen before the baron was dealt with. Truly, he’s been blessed, having staff such as this in his household. He should increase their wages when all this is over as a thanks for their excellent service.

“Jaime! Where did you go earlier?” his sister exclaims, reaching for his arm before he tugs it away and hands his coat to Pia with a nod. “I was looking for you earlier, but your housekeeper said you’d left to go talk to the Starks. She must have been lying, I know you’d never sully yourself with ones as low as they’ve become, but…”

“Enough, Cersei,” he tells her dully, following Peck into the back parlour when the servant materializes in the hallway and beckons him to do so. “Your dear friend Baron Hunt has made a right mess of things, and it has fallen to me to clean that mess up before something disastrous occurs as a result. I would appreciate it if you found someone else to bother for a little while, as I have matters to take care of at present.”

“But Jaime,” she cries, rushing into his path when she realizes where he’s going, “you can’t believe what the Starks told you! I know the Tarth family is one you’re friendly with, but the daughter is a horrific liar who cannot be trusted, and nothing they’ve told you is true. Nothing!”

“How do you know they told me anything?” he asks her, stopping abruptly and nearly making her stumble as she scrambles to halt as well. “Perhaps Catelyn wanted to end the animosity between our two families and invited me over for a social visit. Perhaps I had something to deliver on behalf of the Princess Sansa’s betrothed, or perhaps I wanted to see the sister of my dear friend, or perhaps I went for a walk and Pia misheard me when I told her where I was headed off to. But thank you for confirming your involvement in this affair to me, Cersei. It will make it much easier for me when I must explain why my home has become the base of operations for this little performance of the baron’s to Countess Tarth and her hosts.”

“You can’t—they’re lying to you—Jaime!” Cersei shrieks after him as he brushes past her and enters the back parlour without glancing back. “Jaime, come back! You must listen to me!”

He shuts the door, blocking out the sound of her shouts, before turning to face Hunt, hunched in the corner by the door leading to the gardens, fiddling with the lock before he hears Jaime’s footsteps on the floor and glances up, his face going pale when he realizes he’s been caught out.

“Baron Hunt,” Jaime tells him with icy formality, gesturing to the sofa across from the stiff, high-backed chair he hasn’t seen used since his father passed. “Take a seat, and then explain to me what in the seven hells you were playing at with Countess Brienne Tarth.”

*** 

_You are ruining a whole life  
For the sake of amusing yourself!_

Baron Hunt looks much less confident now than he did the day of the duel, or earlier in the day when Jaime had spoken to him in the gardens. He sits stiff and tense on the edge of his seat, avoiding Jaime’s gaze in favour of studying the fine stitching on the edge of a cushion, the carved wood leg of a table, anything but the blazing green eyes pinning him in place from across the room. His bravado has fled along with his plots, leaving him rather small and sad without any shield to throw up between himself and the consequences that were always going to catch up to him eventually. 

“So,” Jaime says at last, when it becomes evident Hunt has no inclination to begin speaking unprompted. “Why Bri—why Countess Tarth? What did a happily betrothed woman have to offer you that many wealthier, unattached women could not provide you with?”

Hunt fidgets, his fingers digging into the seat of the sofa, his eyes darting every which way as he considers his response. “She was the easiest option. All those rich, free women, they think themselves above me, think that my status and my fortune isn’t enough to keep their attention for long. But Countess Tarth…she’s an ugly woman with few prospects, and only a fool ever believed Renly was going to follow through on that engagement. I figured I could either be there for her when he inevitably broke her heart, or I could show her the truth, that she’d never find an offer better than what I gave to her.”

Jaime shakes his head, wishing he hadn’t already decided ripping Hunt limb-from-limb wasn’t worth the effort. “You’re incorrect, I’m afraid. I would be more than willing to marry Countess Tarth, should the opportunity ever arise for me to do so. Her brother is a dear friend of mine, and we know each other well already. It would not be a hardship to wed her, nor do I imagine Prince Renly would have struggled all that much if they had married already. She’s a wonderful woman, far better than the likes of you could ever deserve.”

Hunt scoffs, his posture easing after Jaime’s vehement declaration. “You bloody fool. Do you honestly think I’m so stupid as to believe all that? The countess has one positive attribute, her wealth, and absolutely nothing else to recommend her as a wife. It’ll be a minor miracle if her father ever manages to marry her off, as unfortunate as she is—“

His words are cut off by the _crack_ of Jaime’s hand striking his face, sending him reeling backwards as blood pours from his nose. “You will not speak of the countess as such ever again,” he snarls down at the baron, crouched on the sofa below him. “She is a highborn lady, of better status than you. It would serve you well to remember that when you speak of her from this point onwards.”

“Why do you care?” Hunt demands, his words muffled by the hand clamped over his bleeding nose. “It’s not like the countess is of any more concern to you than the sister of a friend.”

“You’re wrong,” Jaime tells him again, something satisfied curling up in his chest at the baffled expression on the baron’s face. “I love her. Why wouldn’t I be concerned about her, the woman I love?”

He pauses abruptly after that, wondering where the words came from. Brienne is a dear friend, almost as dear to him as Galladon is, but he doesn’t love her, not as anything more than a friend…doesn’t he?

No, no, he’ll worry about that later. He still has the baron to deal with, and confessing his love for Brienne to the man will not be enough to keep him from acting for long. Hunt will recover from his shock soon enough, and Jaime would much rather see him dealt with before that happens.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” he tells Hunt, grabbing hold of his chin and forcing the other man to meet his gaze at last. “Tonight, you are going to leave King’s Landing. I don’t particularly care where you go, as long as it isn’t here and it isn’t Tarth. After that, you will never try to contact the countess again. If I hear so much as a rumour of you being in the same area as her, I will hunt you down, and this time I will not hesitate to kill you should you dare try anything with her a second time. I will be writing to her father and brother as well, and I have no doubt they will be equally eager to slaughter you on sight. In truth, I think it would be best for you to return to your wife in Highgarden, or to leave Westeros altogether and go to Pentos as you intended to.”

Hunt scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide and a little bit desperate. “But my debts! The Iron Bank will _destroy_ me if I don’t pay them off soon. Please, Jaime. If you have any love for me left, don’t do this. King’s Landing is the only place I can find the fortune I need to save my estate from being seized. It’s my entire livelihood!”

“You should have thought of that before you incurred all those debts, then,” Jaime spits at him, stalking away to stare out into the garden. “And I never had any love for you to begin with, so I will not find this much of a hardship at all. Do not worry about your wife, should you choose to flee Westeros as I expect you will. I will write to the Tyrells, and they will ensure she is well cared for. I imagine she’ll be treated better in their care than she ever was in yours, anyways.”

“The Starks put you up to this, didn’t they?” Hunt growls, though the effect is lost when he’s forced to speak around the blood still dripping from his nose. “That bitch Catelyn has always had it out for me. What did she offer you to do this? Gold? Fame? Her eldest daughter’s maidenhead?”

“Catelyn Stark is worth a thousand of you,” he tells the baron, barely able to refrain from rolling his eyes. “And as for your suggestions, she offered me none of them, though I’ll be certain to tell her how little you think of her when I visit her family after your departure. Besides, Princess Sansa is a lovely girl, but she’s too young for my liking. And she’s betrothed to Galladon Tarth, anyways—though I suppose we now have ample proof that betrothals mean very little to you.”

Hunt gapes at him for another moment before stumbling towards the hallway, shooting a hostile glare over his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go, and you’ll never have to see me again. But do not think this is over, or that I will forget what happened here tonight.”

“Oh, it’s already over,” Jaime mutters as Hunt staggers away, looking alarmingly drunk for a man who recently took part in a failed abduction. “And do not worry about the forgetting part. I do not imagine I will forget what you did, either.”

He shakes his head once again and strides out of the room, nodding to Peck and Pia as they scuttle out of a side hall, looking somewhat guilty at having been caught eavesdropping. Cersei has vanished, though he imagines she’ll appear again soon enough once she gets word of the baron’s departure. That’s unimportant to him now, though, for he has to return to the Stark manor and reassure Catelyn that the baron will not be returning, as well as check in on Brienne to make certain she’s alright after everything that happened. 

He decidedly does not think about his declaration to the baron earlier, even as he instructs Peck and Pia to make sure Cersei does not attempt to contact the baron again and to secure the manor while he is out. It was merely a tactic to shock Hunt enough to make him pliable. It means nothing. Nothing.

All that matters is seeing if Brienne is alright. He can worry about whatever strange feelings he seems to have stumbled upon later, once that is taken care of and she’s free of Baron Hunt forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaime. jaime jaime jaime. I love you dearly, but you're an idiot.
> 
> if you too are curious about Loras's changing of sides, then remember that he too suffered a crisis of conscience after the duel, and has been much less sympathetic to hyle in recent chapters. not enough to stop the whole thing from taking place, of course, but he gets points for doing something, no matter how useless it may seem now.
> 
> next time: jaime has yet to pull his head out of his ass, and Catelyn comes to a realization as well.


	21. Natasha Very Ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _natasha very ill..._
> 
> Catelyn is pacing in the study, trying not to think about Jaime Lannister might be doing with Baron Hunt at this very moment, when Arya bursts in, her eyes wild and terrified in a way they haven’t been since they first heard the news about Winterfell and Ned’s death. “You have to come upstairs,” her youngest daughter says urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the door. “It’s Brienne. Something’s wrong with Brienne.”
> 
> *
> 
> featuring attempted murder, bedside vigils, and several revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a day early again, but I woke up at 1am this morning and I deserve a reward for that, dammit. this chapter is surprisingly long considering it's based off of one of the shortest songs in the musical, but sometimes my brain gets excited and goes somewhere I didn't expect with the story. this is one of those times.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: a character is poisoned by another character. the poisoning doesn't succeed, and none of the details regarding it are that explicit, but tread carefully anyways.

_The whole house  
A state of alarm and commotion…_

Catelyn is pacing in the study, trying not to think about Jaime Lannister might be doing with Baron Hunt at this very moment, when Arya bursts in, her eyes wild and terrified in a way they haven’t been since they first heard the news about Winterfell and Ned’s death. “You have to come upstairs,” her youngest daughter says urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the door. “It’s Brienne. Something’s wrong with Brienne.”

It’s all she needs to hear to convince her to race upstairs on Arya’s heels, hiking up her skirts as she runs. They burst into Brienne’s room practically side by side, causing Sansa to leap up from the bed with a relieved expression on her face. 

“Thank the gods,” she breathes, before rushing into Catelyn’s arms, seeking the comfort she once found there as a child. “Brienne…she said she was tired, so I brought her back to her own room and left to find another blanket, and when I came back she was pale and shaking and feverish, and I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Catelyn murmurs, trying to soothe her eldest daughter while watching Arya sit on the bed next to Brienne’s too-still form and take her hand. “Sansa, why don’t you go find Pod and tell him to call for the maester? Hopefully the stress of everything has made her ill, and it’ll pass in a few days. I’d rather be certain, though, particularly when Prince Jaime has yet to return and tell me what happened with the baron.”

Sansa nods, pale and drawn, before fleeing the room. Catelyn moves to join Arya next to Brienne, who looks far too still and pale even after the exhausting and terrible events of the day. Sweat beads on her brow, and she stirs briefly, muttering in her sleep before slumping back against the pillows.

“Do you think she’s going to be alright?” Arya asks, her voice so small and timid Catelyn barely recognizes it at first. “I don’t want her to die, Mother. I’m tired of people dying.”

“She won’t die,” Catelyn says firmly, wishing she believed her own words enough to say so. “I won’t let it happen, Arya. I will not stop fighting for Brienne’s life until I hear from the maester that it’s a lost cause, and even then I do not intend to give up. She is too good of a friend to lose, and there are not enough good people like her left in this world anymore.”

Arya nods, curling up against her side like she used to when she was small and needed comfort after some incident or another. It seems fear for Brienne has made both her daughters revert to their old habits, something Catelyn never thought she’d see again.

Some mothers might find it reassuring to know their children still seek their comfort so freely, but she has not seen her daughters act as such for long enough to understand that they absorb her comfort in different ways now that they are older. Their fear is enough to make her afraid as well, as she silently strokes Brienne’s hair and prays for both the maester and Jaime to hurry.

Sansa soon slips back in, her eyes red-rimmed but her expression set and firm. “Pod’s gone off to seek the maester now,” she mumbles, sitting on Catelyn’s opposite side and leaning against her as well, her arm snaking across her mother’s body to link with Arya’s on the other side. “He said he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

“Good,” Catelyn murmurs, and it’s the last thing they say for a good long while. Brienne remains fairly calm next to them, only stirring once or twice to murmur what Catelyn believes is a name before stilling again. Arya falls asleep against her side, Sansa comes close to doing the same on her shoulder, and it’s like this that Jaime Lannister finds them when another servant guides him into the room, closing the door softly in his wake.

She would feel self-conscious about a man who she despised not so long ago finding her so vulnerable with her children, except his attention immediately goes to Brienne, his face twisting into something almost like agony as he takes two careful steps forward before practically flying to her bedside, taking her hand and cradling it between his remaining hand and the stump where the other once was, his eyes never leaving her face as he watches her slumber, and Catelyn suddenly feels like _she’s_ the intruder here, witnessing a private moment she was never meant to see.“Brienne,” the prince whispers, pressing his lips to the back of her hand for a moment before raising his gaze to study her face once again. “Oh gods, Brienne, what happened to you? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I should have been.”

 _He wasn’t joking earlier, when he claimed he’d marry her if he could,_ Catelyn thinks, as she watches him stare at Brienne as if she’s the only other person in the world. _He’s in love with her, really, truly in love with her. I suppose I can’t fault him on his taste, then. She’s truly the best there is._

“Prince Jaime,” she says to him, and he jumps, looking guiltily over at Brienne—though he doesn’t let go of her hand, she notices. “How went your confrontation with the baron?”

Sansa stirs at her side, standing and picking up a half-asleep Arya before guiding her sister out of the room, leaving Catelyn alone with Jaime and Brienne’s sleeping form. He doesn’t answer her for a long moment, not until she clears her throat and he flinches again, as if he’s only just remembered she asked him a question. 

“My apologies, Princess Catelyn,” he says formally, though his eyes remain on Brienne as he speaks. “I was…distracted. I can confirm, however, that the baron has departed King’s Landing. I asked him to, but I also had him followed to ensure he would, since our confrontation…did not go as well as I hoped it might have. Still, he has lost his ally of Loras Tyrell, and my sister is not willing to cross me any further and risk being forced to stay with her husband again, so he is much less likely to act again than he would like us to think he is.”

Catelyn nods, though she doesn’t think he sees it, as fixated on Brienne as he is. “I am glad to hear it. Thank you for doing that.”

“The rumours are being taken care of as well,” he adds, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him for a moment. “I set some of my other friends to take care of that matter, and Loras Tyrell has been helping by refuting Hunt’s tale whenever Walder Frey decides to start repeating it. If we are lucky, all this will soon pass, and Brienne will not be affected by any of it.”

“What will happen when Renly returns?” she asks as the thought strikes her, glancing down at Brienne, who has not stirred since Jaime arrived. “I know she broke off the betrothal, but there may be a chance to resolve things if he is not too upset, or if he has not heard about the baron’s actions as of yet…”

“I’ll speak to him,” Jaime says firmly, right as the door opens and Pod steps in with the maester trailing behind him. “He should be arriving in the city soon, if my sister’s sources are correct.”

Catelyn rises to her feet as the maester approaches, but Jaime remains by the bed a moment longer, using the stump of his right arm to brush a strand of hair from Brienne’s forehead in a gesture that has her unexpectedly longing for Ned, wishing he was here with her rather than dead and buried in Winterfell. She still has little love for the Lannister prince, but if Brienne were to wed him at the end of all this…well, that wouldn’t be too terrible a thing for her, to marry a man who loves her so much that stepping away from her sickbed is too difficult for him to do until the maester clears his throat.

“I will refrain from bothering you any longer,” Jaime tells her as Pod shoos them out of the room so the maester can work. “But I…I hope that you will allow me to check in from time to time, so I can ensure Brienne is recovering well. She is as dear a friend to me as her brother is, and I hate to watch from afar knowing this has happened to her.”

 _As dear a friend,_ Catelyn repeats in her mind, feeling amused for the first time that night. _Is that how you refer to all your lovers, Prince Jaime?_ “You are always welcome to come see Brienne,” she replies, her lips curling up in the ghost of a smile when he flushes red and ducks his head, looking oddly sheepish for a man who has seen war and death and suffering and lived to tell the tale. “I have no right to keep you away, especially not after you helped her so.”

“I…thank you,” he says, his voice hoarse, before he bends and presses a kiss to the back of her hand in a brief courtly gesture she has not seen since Ned passed away. “I will see you soon enough, then. And do tell Sansa congratulations on her engagement from me. Galladon is a good man, and I believe they can find considerable happiness together.”

He turns and strides away, looking every inch the golden prince he pretends to be, that Catelyn might have thought he was had she not just witnessed the tender way he looked at Brienne and the kindness he afforded her, widowed mother of a disgraced noble house. It seems Jaime Lannister is not what he appears to be, and that he has been hiding a soft heart beneath his prickly temper this entire time. 

“You’re blushing,” Arya tells her, slipping into the room unnoticed while she’d been staring in Jaime’s wake. “What foolish thing did the prince say this time?”

“He’s in love with Brienne,” Catelyn murmurs, taking a seat on the nearest chair to wait for the maester’s prognosis. “The way he looked at her…it was the same way your father used to look at me.”

Arya nods, looking unsurprised by the revelation, though of course, she’s spent enough time sparring with him at the club to have likely grasped such truths for herself already. “He certainly never shut up about her whenever she came up in our sparring matches. And the rumour around King’s Landing is that he threatened to duel Ronnet Connington for insulting her. Quite frankly, I’m baffled _more_ people haven’t realized how smitten with her he is.”

“Well, then.” Catelyn shakes her head while gesturing for Arya to sit next to her. “It seems I’ve been too preoccupied with governing our family’s affairs while Robb is off at the front to pay much attention to the gossip. A shame, since so much appears to have gone on while I busied myself with other matters.”

Her daughter nods, glancing down and biting her lip while wearing the same expression of concern she’d had back in Brienne’s room earlier. “Brienne’s going to be alright, isn’t she? Sansa said…Sansa was worried she might not be.”

“I pray that she’ll recover,” Catelyn whispers, pulling Arya into her arms as she speaks. “I do not think she is suffering from anything too dire, but one can never be certain after a stressful time such as this one.”

Arya opens her mouth to speak again, but the maester steps in before she can do so. “My apologies for interrupting, Princess Catelyn, Princess Arya,” he says, looking somber. Catelyn vaguely thinks that his face is a kind one, though she’s uncertain as to how that is relevant to whatever he’s about to tell them. “But I have examined Countess Tarth, and while I am almost certain she will make a full recovery, I am concerned as to how she obtained access to the sweetsleep that caused her illness.”

“Sweetsleep?” Arya cries, and Catelyn attempts to hush her to no avail. “Why would Brienne poison herself? She seemed so much less upset when we took her upstairs, and even said she had hope it would work out. I don’t understand what’s going on!”

“I do not believe she poisoned herself,” the maester tells them quietly, flicking his gaze over to where Pod hovers in the doorway, looking ashen. “Rather, I believe someone was tricked into giving her the sweetsleep under the guise of it being something else…sweetener for tea, perhaps.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Catelyn demands, rising to her feet in a swirl of skirts. “We have had no visitors who saw Brienne besides Prince Jaime, and he did not see her until after she fell ill. How could someone have poisoned her without us knowing?”

“It’s my fault,” Pod says glumly, staring down at his feet. “Princess Cersei came by and gave me the sweetener, telling me it was a gift from her brother. I should have checked before I added it to the countess’s tea, or I should have refused her gift in the first place. I’m so sorry for letting you down.”

“You couldn’t have known she was trying to do that, Pod,” Arya tells him, looking fierce and angry enough that Catelyn silently begins compiling a plan to keep her from hunting down and killing Cersei Baratheon in a misguided quest for vengeance. “None of us blame you for that, and I doubt Brienne will either when she wakes up.” She pauses, turning to the maester with the worried look back in her eyes. “She _will_ wake up, right?’’

“She will,” the maester reassures them, smiling for the first time since his arrival. “The antidote worked almost immediately, and all she needs now is rest and a bit less stress in her life, the poor dear. I must head out now, as I have other patients to see to, but do not hesitate to summon me again should the need arise.”

He leaves the room, and Catelyn can hear him gathering his equipment in the next room while the three of them stand in a strange silent tableau. “Go get some rest, Pod,” she tells the servant once the maester’s steps vanish down the hallway. “You’ve had as difficult a day as any of us, and have more than earned a month off at this point.”

Pod bows his head and trudges away, his entire body slumped with guilt or exhaustion. Catelyn is about to follow him out into the hall so she can go check on Brienne again when Arya tugs on her sleeve, and she pauses again.

“Why would Cersei Baratheon want to kill Brienne?” her daughter asks, brow furrowed. “She has no quarrel with Brienne, and unless the baron wanted to see her dead if she refused him again there was no reason for her to do such a thing.”

“I don’t know,” Catelyn responds, wondering how it all got so complicated. When Brienne had first arrived in King’s Landing, everything had made sense. Now there are hidden plots of abduction and attempted murder, broken engagements and potential new lovers, and she has no idea when her plans unravelled and became _this_. “And I’m not fully certain I want to, either. Cersei Baratheon is not a good person to cross, and she has nearly as many powerful friends as her brother does.”

“Why did this have to happen to Brienne?” Arya whispers imploringly, wiping at her eyes furiously. “She’s a good person. The best. She doesn’t deserve to be humiliated and poisoned and hurt over and over and over again. Why are they all so determined to see her hurt?”

“Because they want to tear her down. She’s comfortable with herself and her place in the world, and they are not, and they are taking those feelings out on her in order to make themselves feel better about their own lives. It is cruel, and undeserved, but people like Princess Cersei and Baron Hunt do not care about that. They only care for themselves, and how they can better their own position by tearing down others.”

“That’s awful.” Arya shakes her head, looking every bit her father in that moment as she scowls at everything and nothing, and Catelyn feels another pang of longing for her long-dead husband. “ _They’re_ awful.”

“Yes, yes they are. But we cannot concern ourselves with them at present. Our concern is Brienne now. We need to make sure she is safe, and that they can never hurt her again after this.”

It’s enough to reassure Arya, who nods and darts out of the room, either to return to her bed at last or to pester her sister for a little while. But, Catelyn privately wonders as she returns to Brienne’s room and her bedside vigil, will that be enough to keep Brienne from harm? They are but three disgraced noble woman, alone in a massive old manor with a handful of servants and the promises of a one-handed prince as their only real defence. She cannot wrap Brienne up in her arms and keep her there for all eternity, no matter how tempting the thought may seem, nor can she keep this manor secure from attack forever. The baron and others like him will always exist, and nothing she says or does will keep them from doing so.

But she will do her best to defend Brienne from their attacks, and it seems she is not the only one willing to do so. Her daughters have leapt to Brienne’s defence before she was even made aware of the issue, and she has met Galladon and Selwyn enough times to know they would do anything for their last remaining family. Even Jaime Lannister has been unable to escape Brienne’s allure, as she saw earlier when he raced to her bedside without so much as glancing at anyone else.

No, she cannot guarantee Brienne’s protection, not with so few resources available to her. But she is not alone in the quest to protect the young countess, and she has no intention of letting her guest be hurt without raining hell down on those who dare to do so.


	22. Pierre & Andrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _well, how are you?_
> 
> Renly Baratheon arrives in King’s Landing three days after Brienne is poisoned, three days after Jaime throws Cersei out of his manor, finally finished tolerating her cruelties and petty feuds. Brienne has not awoken, or at least she has not during any of his visits to the Stark manor, but she is recovering, her colour returning, and the worry in that household fades with every day that passes where she seems to be healing.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring Renly's return, an uncomfortable conversation, and an observation that only comes as a surprise to Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renly's being promoted from 'isn't here' to 'here' status at long last. all that remains is to finally get both our leads into the same room while both of them are conscious. this will be coming fairly soon, as I have run out of patience and just want to finish posting this fic.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: there's some vague allusions to homophobia, but nothing especially specific or explicit. there's also some references to Cersei's attempted poisoning of Brienne, jic that's sensitive for anyone.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy! we're almost done this journey at last!

_No, I am well  
There’s a war going on…_

Renly Baratheon arrives in King’s Landing three days after Brienne is poisoned, three days after Jaime throws Cersei out of his manor, finally finished tolerating her cruelties and petty feuds. Brienne has not awoken, or at least she has not during any of his visits to the Stark manor, but she is recovering, her colour returning, and the worry in that household fades with every day that passes where she seems to be healing.

Jaime is already waiting in the front parlour when Renly arrives, looking far wearier than he ever has in the time Jaime has known him. Brienne’s betrothed— _former_ betrothed, now—has a serious cast to his face that he lacked before, though he appears outwardly unharmed by his time at the front. But Jaime was there, until the cannon took his hand from him and changed the course of his future entirely. He is well aware that the war does not need to physically scar in order to cut so deeply the soldiers may never recover.

“Prince Renly,” he says, adopting the same formal air he has always used with his goodbrothers on the few occasions they have had to meet. “It is a pleasure to see you whole and mostly well. How goes the war?”

Renly takes a seat opposite him, shaking his head at Pia when she appears beside him to offer tea. “Not well, I’m afraid. The invaders advance more every day even as winter sets in, and the commanders are beginning to fear that we will have to evacuate King’s Landing if things continue the way they are now. How have you been? I was sorry to hear about your injury, though my goodsister has hinted you are mostly recovered by now.”

“The wound has healed,” Jaime agrees, raising his stump and studying it grimly, “though I still feel the pain of it some days.” He doesn’t elaborate, knowing Renly, a fellow soldier, will understand what he means. They’ve both seen the worst of the war, and they both know Jaime was lucky when compared to some of the other injuries out on the front. A lost hand is a much kinder fate than most will get, out on the front lines of the war with no one else there to help them.

“You are enjoying King’s Landing, are you not?” Renly asks after nodding slowly, his gaze scanning Jaime’s stump with the cool gaze of a man who has seen far worse by now. There was a time he wouldn’t have been able to look at such a wound without flinching, but this war has made man cowards bold and many of the bold cowards. “I have heard it was very…exciting, these past few days.”

_You could say that, yes._

“It has not been dull,” he responds, lowering his stump and levelling his gaze at Renly. “I presume you have heard about Countess Tarth by now, or else you would not have agreed to meet with me so readily.”

Renly inclines his head in silent acknowledgement, sending a go on gesture towards Jaime when he pauses. 

“What do you intend to do, then? Princess Catelyn told me the countess has broken off your engagement, but if that is not what you want…”

“I will not marry her,” Renly interrupts, louder than he has been since his arrival. “Proposing to her was a mistake to begin with, particularly when I never truly meant to wed her anyways. She will be fine without me, I am certain. It seems she was already prepared to move on with Baron Hunt, if the rumours are true.”

“Which they are _not_ ,” Jaime snarls, abruptly furious on Brienne’s behalf. “Hunt was pursuing her, and then decided to abduct her when she told him no, and when that backfired he decided to go and spread a tale claiming she was the one who led him on. He’s a cheat, and a liar, and you should not believe a word that comes out of his mouth or the mouth of anyone associated with him and his idiotic plan to win himself a fortune.”

“It does not matter who pursued who,” Renly tells him, waving a hand in an airy manner reminiscent of who he was before the war began. “I cannot afford to have a wife with any connections to other men, not if she is to serve the purpose I have married her for. Countess Tarth is a charming young woman, but she is not the sort of woman who any man would want for a wife.”

Jaime shakes his head, his left hand clenching into a fist where it rests in his lap. “Did you ever tell her the truth, that you intended to use her as a shield against the judgement of society? She _loved_ you, and you would have used her without bothering to tell her what you intended to do!”

“I thought you, of all people, would understand the need for discretion,” Renly snaps, rising to his feet and beginning to pace behind the sofa. “Or are you as much of a hypocrite as your sweet sister claims you are, then?”

“It is less the discretion I object to, and more the manner of which you are going about it.” He refuses to acknowledge the jab at his own habits that high society would deem unacceptable, though he privately curses Cersei for her inability to keep her mouth shut about the things he confessed to her in _private_. “Marrying to protect yourself from judgement is perfectly acceptable, and you would not be the first noble to do so. But to deliberately keep your true intentions from the woman you intend to wed, to make her think you return her affections when you never truly could, that is cruel and unnecessary. At the very least, you should have told her all this when you proposed and let her decide if she wanted to accept your offer on the basis of that information.”

That makes Renly pause, and he frowns as he absorbs Jaime’s words. “Perhaps you’re right. I did err with Countess Tarth, and for that I offer my sincere apologies. But if you are here to tell me to renew our engagement, after everything that has happened…”

“I would not presume to tell you to do anything,” Jaime says, ignoring the flare of _something_ in his chest at the knowledge that Brienne’s engagement would remain broken. “I would ask, however, that you consider the optics of the situation. Many believe the baron’s claims that the countess was unfaithful, and for you to break off your engagement at the same time implies there is a truth behind those claims. You do not have to wed her, not if you do not want to, but at the very least, you could consider extending the engagement for a time to soften the blow to her reputation.”

Renly bows his head, looking mournfully at the ground. “I wish I could, Prince Jaime. But my brothers are eager to see me wed, and they will not tolerate me wasting my time prolonging this betrothal when it is already doomed to fail. And I _must_ marry, and quickly, or else the rumours will wreak havoc upon my own reputation, and that is something I cannot afford. We both saw how quickly the Starks fell from grace after Prince Robb’s elopement.”

 _You never deserved Brienne, not if you are so quick to abandon her when she is most in need of your help,_ Jaime thinks bitterly, composing his features into a decidedly neutral expression before he speaks again. “I understand. But do know this: when Princess Catelyn’s wrath descends on you after hearing such a thing, I will not stand in her way.”

The other prince laughs, the sound very unlike his raucous laughter from Robert and Cersei’s wedding. The war has turned him brittle and hard, more like Stannis in his grim demeanour and troubled eyes. “Ah, yes. I forgot that she would be on the warpath after an incident of this severity. It seems I will have to stay away from the Stark family for a long while after this.”

_And Brienne as well. I will not permit you to hurt her more than you already have._

“Very well, then,” Jaime murmurs, rising to his feet and extending his left hand to Renly. “I wish you luck in your search for a bride. And when you deal with my sister, as well, for you will have to do so when you return to your own manor.”

“She is not here now? I am surprised she did not take advantage of your hospitality to evade Robert’s attentions—or lack thereof.”

“She attempted to poison the countess, and then refused to explain why she had done such a thing when I asked,” Jaime says through clenched teeth, his anger returning in full force at the thought of his sister’s actions. “I will not permit her to remain in my home any longer, not after what she has done.”

Renly arcs a brow, his eyes turning dark enough at his explanation that Jaime privately decides to temper his anger at the other man. “She did, hmm? It’s a shame Stannis governs our household and not myself, or I would not permit her to be there for long either. Whatever quarrel she has with the countess, it can not possibly be worthy of attempted murder.”

“Precisely,” Jaime says as Pia slips back in to hand Renly his coat. “I am glad to hear you agree with me, though your brother looked more intrigued by the promise of poison than anything else.”

At this, Renly grimaces. “Stannis has been hoping to rid himself of Robert for quite some time now. I would not be surprised if my eldest brother met his death very soon—though, of course, he would be succumbing to his injuries at last. Murder will most definitely not be a possibility.”

“But of course.” They exchange brief, tight smiles, then Renly walks out into the hall, pausing just before he vanishes from Jaime’s line of sight.

“Prince Jaime,” he calls, and Jaime’s head snaps up, startling out of his consideration of the front garden. “If you wish to pursue the countess’s hand for yourself, I offer you my full support in doing so.”

He’s gone before Jaime can think of a response, leaving him gaping at the spot where the other prince stood only moments before. Had Renly visited the Stark manor before coming here, where he might have heard about Jaime’s reckless declaration to Catelyn on the day of the abduction? How else would he know of that matter?

He hadn’t meant his words to Catelyn, of course. Brienne is Galladon’s little sister, someone he watched grow up and considers a dear friend, nothing more. While a marriage to her would not be a terrible thing, not at all, he has no desire to marry someone he does not love, and he does not love Brienne as anything more than a friend.

Peck clears his throat behind him, and he belatedly realizes the servant had entered while he was distracted by Renly’s parting shot. “Yes?” he asks a little sheepishly as he turns around. “Is something the matter?”

“A message from Princess Catelyn has arrived,” Peck tells him, handing the folded slip of paper over with a flourish. “The countess has awakened, and the princess would like you to attend to her at your earliest convenience. Shall I inform her of your intended time of arrival, or do you intend to go visit now?”

“The latter, I think,” Jaime responds, scanning the page to confirm that Peck’s information is correct. “Best not to keep Princess Catelyn waiting for too long.”

Peck nods and hurries away to begin readying the carriage, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts for another moment. It’s a relief to hear that Brienne is alright, and an equal relief to know she will not be marrying Renly Baratheon—not that the second part matters, of course. He’d been so concerned, the last few days…

 _Enough._ He shakes his head and folds up the paper again, stuffing it in the pocket of his coat as he strides into the hall. He can concern himself with Brienne’s lack of engagement later. Now, he must ascertain her condition for himself so that he does not overly distress Galladon in his letter, and so that the relentlessly worried pressure at the back of his own mind can finally settle upon seeing her well again after the terror of finding her so still and pale when he had just hoped to keep Catelyn informed of the ongoing situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for someone who clearly has no feelings for brienne whatsoever, jaime sure does have a lot of opinions about what she deserves. I wonder why that is, jaime. 
> 
> next time: we FINALLY see jaime and brienne meet. yes, it really has taken this long.


	23. Pierre & Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _natasha was standing..._
> 
> He meets Brienne in the back parlour of the Stark manor, where she sits pale and tremulous but _alive_ , her hands clasped neatly in her lap as she raises her gaze to meet his. She’s dressed in a simple white gown that does little to enhance the colour on her cheeks but allows her eyes to shine bright as stars, so brilliant that he’s unable to speak for a moment, caught in a half-bow while his brain scrambles for words. He has not seen her for more than a year, and it seems his memories have not done her justice.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring a meeting at long last, a realization on Jaime's part after many chapters of ignoring it, and a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe? I'm putting them in the same room? and they actually talk to each other? it's a miracle. also Pierre & Natasha is a lovely song that I definitely did not appreciate enough when I first listened to great comet, so I would advise you to not repeat my mistake.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: there's some discussion of Hyle's actions, though it's pretty non-specific. other than that this one should be fine. unless I've forgotten something again, which is more than likely tbh.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_We won’t speak of it anymore  
We won’t speak of it, my dear…_

He meets Brienne in the back parlour of the Stark manor, where she sits pale and tremulous but _alive_ , her hands clasped neatly in her lap as she raises her gaze to meet his. She’s dressed in a simple white gown that does little to enhance the colour on her cheeks but allows her eyes to shine bright as stars, so brilliant that he’s unable to speak for a moment, caught in a half-bow while his brain scrambles for words. He has not seen her for more than a year, and it seems his memories have not done her justice.

She inclines her head towards him, not rising as would normally be expected—but he would never demand that of her now, not when she has only just awoken after her poisoning. “Prince Jaime,” she greets him, her voice weak but still as melodious as ever as her lips curl up into what might almost be a smile.

“Countess Tarth,” he manages to choke out in response, straightening from his half bow and carefully making his way to sit across from her. “I…I am glad to see you are recovering so quickly. Your illness was a source of great distress for your hosts, and for myself as well.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she tells him, looking down at her hands and flushing slightly. “And thank you, for defending my honour after the baron attempted to slander it, and for driving him out of King’s Landing. I do not think I would have been able to face him myself, not after what he did.”

“It was no trouble.” He tries to relax into his seat, but she’s still so pale, and he has yet to determine if the Stark women trust him enough for him to be fully safe in their home. “In truth, it was the least I could do, especially considering the part my sister played in your poisoning.”

He immediately winces, having intended to leave that matter out of this conversation. Brienne looks unfazed by his words, but to bring up such a sensitive topic when she’s only just begun her recovery is tactless even by his admittedly low standards.

It seems she’s sensed his thoughts, though, because she quickly shakes her head. “Do not blame yourself for your sister’s actions. You could not have predicted that she would do what she did, and your own actions have more than proven that you had no involvement in either her plot or the baron’s. Even Catelyn does not blame you for that, and she still hates you due to the ancient rivalry between your families.”

It’s his turn to flush and duck his head. “I assure you, my sister will not do such a thing again. I will not allow her to come near you anymore, and I believe she shall soon be more concerned with a plot to murder her husband than attempting to see you dead a second time. Although, when Robert inevitably passes away, you may not want to repeat that particular statement aloud.”

Brienne grimaces, rather than looking horrified as he thought she might, and he’s briefly confused until he recalls that she met Robert when she first came to the capital. “I would pity her husband, but having met him I cannot say I blame her for wanting to do so.”

He laughs before reaching across the space between them to take her hand in his. “Are you alright? So much has happened to you in so little time, and your brother has complained before of your tendency to hide your feelings. I want to make certain before I write to him explaining what has gone down.”

What little colour had come into her cheeks drains away, and she looks near ghostly for a moment as her gaze falls to their joined hands. “My brother is right to be concerned, for I nearly said I was, but I find I cannot lie about it this time. The baron’s actions have…shaken me, more than I would normally dare to admit. I did not trust him from the beginning, but to know the depths of his deception, that he was already wed and attempting to use me for his own benefit…”

She hunches forward, her shoulders trembling, and he surges to his feet in order to come sit at her side and wrap his arm around her. “It’s terrible, what he did, and I have it on good authority from Oberyn Martell himself that the emperor will see him pay dearly should he ever dare to return to Westeros. No honourable man would do what he attempted to. Even I can recognize that, and I am not widely considered to be an honourable man.”

Her ocean-blue eyes blink as she glances over at him, shimmering with tears. “Really? But you have always been so kind, so willing to defend my good name. I find it hard to believe that any could consider you dishonourable.”

“Yes, well, there are many who believe I killed the emperor Aerys II when he died and I left his family’s service shortly after.” He will not tell her that those rumours are true; he does not want to be judged on his finest act, not by her of all people. “It is why the Starks dislike me so, and why so few were willing to associate with me for a long time afterwards. But enough about myself. You are glad to know the baron is gone and will not trouble you again, I presume?”

“Very much so,” she murmurs, “and I know I am not supposed to feel such satisfaction at the thought of his suffering, but I sincerely hope he catches greyscale while in Pentos and dies horribly.”

“He would certainly deserve it,” Jaime says softly, wondering once again why anyone would want to hurt a woman as splendid as her. Hyle Hunt is a bloody fool, and Renly Baratheon too. Who would not fall for her wondrous eyes and gentle soul, no matter how foolish or uninterested they might be?

She smiles ever so slightly before curling into herself once more. “Is it true that Ren…that Prince Renly has returned to the capital? Sansa said he had, but I was wondering…”

“He has,” Jaime tells her, his heart aching at the earnestly hopeful look she gives him. “I have spoken to him, and he does not wish to renew your engagement, not even to protect your honour from the baron’s slander.” She nods shallowly, her eyes downcast, and his heart aches for her, for her pain and misery. “I am sorry.”

“It’s strange,” she whispers as he pulls her close and lets her press her face into his shoulder. “I was the one to break off our engagement, and I know I don’t love him anymore or maybe I never did, but it still hurts, to know that it is over. He was my only chance at marriage, at being the daughter my father deserves, and I have failed at even that.”

“Don’t say that,” he tells her immediately. “You are young and wealthy, and this affair with the baron will not destroy your prospects, especially once the extent of his lies become known. Someone will see how wonderful you are soon enough. I am sure of it.”

There’s a pang in his chest at the thought of Brienne with someone else, some other man better suited for her who will lover her as she deserves. But he has no right to keep her for himself and steal her chances at happiness. She has shown no interest in him in all the years they have known each other, and any chance of a marriage between them vanished when he chose to march off to war with the first wave of soldiers.

“Who, Jaime?” she asks him, her voice trembling, and if he were not so alarmed by the tears spilling down her cheeks as she draws away from him he would be in raptures of startled delight at the sound of her calling him by his name alone. “Who would have me? I am not nearly as young as most of the eligible nobles now in the capital, and we both know full well how shallow men can be. They will not look past my features to see who I truly am. I thought Renly had tried, but it was only because his interest did not encapsulate women that he was even able to pretend with me.”

He shakes his head, wishing he could tear down Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington and anyone else who made Brienne feel as if she was worth less than she truly is. “That’s not true, Brienne. Not every man is solely looking for a pretty face, a society wife they can parade around on their arm while entertaining themselves in…other ways on the side. Plenty of men would prefer love, or something resembling it, in their marriages, and that is not always found in some of the high society women. My sister is ample proof of that fact.”

“That takes time, though,” she tells him, looking at him with such sadness in her eyes that his heart breaks for her, as it has been ever since he arrived at the Stark manor and heard what Baron Hunt had done. “And will I have that? So many are going to the front, and so few will return. There is no time for a proper courtship anymore, and no one will love me without taking that time and trying.” 

She gestures to his right arm and the stump of his wrist, which he supposes proves her point. But she’s _wrong_ , terribly wrong. _He_ loves her, has for ages, and, fool that he is, has only properly realized it now, sitting beside her in the Stark manor as she confesses her secret fears and woes to him.

_I love her?_

Where had _that_ thought come from? She is Galladon’s little sister, his good friend, Renly Baratheon’s former betrothed. He does not love her. He _cannot_.

But Galladon had sent him a meaningful look when he’d danced with Brienne the last time they went to Tarth before the war, and Renly had given him express permission to court her when he’d left earlier, and he cannot sit here and let her believe she is not loved, because she _is_ , by more than just him, by her father and her brother and her beloved Starks and by _him_ , may the gods spare him for confessing and realizing the fact in such an awkward way. He hadn’t been lying when he told Catelyn and later Hunt that he would be more than willing to wed her, and he is not lying now, not even to himself. Not anymore.

_Gods, I’ve been such a terrible fool._

“Believe me, Brienne,” he says to her, taking her hand in his for a second time, “I do not think that is the case at all. Not everyone is going off to the fight, and those too injured to continue on will return to the city, and one of those who remains _will_ see you for the wonder that you are, if one of them has not already. They would all be terrible fools if they did not.”

Echoing his own thoughts about himself is not the most elegant way to guide her towards realizing how he feels, but he has little else to aid him in this task when she is being so infuriatingly _stubborn_ about it. But he must make her see somehow. He cannot sit by and watch her walk away thinking herself alone and unloved because a few imbeciles could not be bothered to see past her outward appearance.

“My reputation is in tatters,” she says, tears spilling from her eyes and flowing over her cheeks like the waterfall they’d once gone to with their friends, when they’d all banded together and dared Addam to jump from the top, laughing and shrieking as they did, in those glorious days before the war came and destroyed all their innocence and peace. “Even with your efforts, I have been humiliated and scorned by both Renly and the baron, and who would bother to court me when I have already been twice judged and found unworthy?”

“ _I_ would,” he insists, sliding from the sofa and sinking to his knees before her. “Brienne, do you not see it? I admit that I did not for far too long, fool that I was and that I still am, but you are so much more than a friend to me, so much more than I once thought you were.”

She’s gaping at him, her mouth open and her eyes shining with something that he thinks looks a bit like hope. “Jaime…”

He reaches out with his hand and the stump of the other, gathering both her hands between them and gazing up at her imploringly. “For far too long, you were only Galladon’s little sister, my companion in urging Addam to do foolish things, a sparring partner and a far-too excellent racer.” She snorts out a shaky laugh at his mention of their childhood exploits and squeezes his hand, urging him to continue, so he does.

“But you have haunted me, the last few years, ever since I went off to war. I found myself thinking of you on the front, far more than any of my other friends, and that was when I still had Addam and Oberyn fighting beside me, before they were reassigned and Oberyn was recalled. I had yet to realize what it meant, what the fact that it was _your_ memory I fled to after they removed my hand signified, and I am cursing myself now for not realizing how I felt, how I _feel_ sooner.”

She shakes her head, her eyes watery but her smile glorious as the morning sun cresting over the horizon, and he draws in a deep breath before going on, his own voice shaking with emotion as he speaks. 

“If only I had understood myself sooner. We might not be in this mess if I had, if I had thought a little harder about why I felt so strongly whenever someone insulted you or when I heard you were to wed Renly Baratheon. I pretended I did not care, that you were still merely a friend to me, but believe me, I did care. And I still do now.

“Do not mistake my crusade against the baron for anything other than fury at the way he treated _you_. I do not think I would have done so for anyone else, and if I had I certainly would not have declared my desire to marry them to Catelyn Stark in the process.”

She gasps, tugging one of her hands free in order to cradle his face in her palm. “Jaime, you didn’t.”

“I did. She can attest to it, if you want confirmation.”

Brienne shakes her head again, looking as if she’s reeling from his breathless confession, from the fact that he’s kneeling before her claiming that he loves her, that he’s loved her for more than a year now. “Jaime, I…”

“Allow me to court you,” he blurts before she can finish, then flushes bright red. “If you so desire, that is. I will not force you into anything you do not want, and if you do not desire me, if your feelings are not the same as mine, then I will leave now and we will go on as if this conversation never occurred. But I cannot let you walk away without telling you this, cannot let you go back upstairs thinking your prospects are gone and that no man would ever choose you because make no mistake, I would, and I am. I understand if you do not want me, for I would not if I were in your situation. Why would you want an old, broken man, with only one hand, who took so long to realize he loved you that it took you being hurt for him to realize the truth? But I would like to try, Brienne. Even if it does not work between us, even if you do not feel for me the same way or at all, I would like to try.”

She takes in a deep shuddering breath before smiling at him, so bright that he’s struck dumb once again. “And here I thought I was the fool when I realized I was ending my engagement with Renly, not because of the baron’s plans but for love of you.”

He opens his mouth, but there’s nothing to say, not really. Has she loved him this entire time as well? Have they truly been so foolish as this?

“Jaime,” she murmurs, her hand on his cheek dropping to lift the stump of his right arm and cradle it next to his left hand. “If everything was not so chaotic, if I felt less uncertain after the baron’s actions, I would say yes to you without hesitation. And even now, I am loath to deny you what you ask, because it is what I desire as well. But I need time, Jaime. I do not want to rush into another betrothal after Renly and the baron. Can you give me time?”

“However long you need,” he replies, his voice hoarse and his own eyes wet with tears. He hadn’t dared hope that she returned his feelings when he first knelt before her. It’s enough to know that she loves him in return. 

She’s still smiling at him, and he feels as if he’s standing in the garden beneath a summer sun, with light and warmth shining down upon him. “I think I would not mind a more extensive courtship, anyways. I always did feel that things moved too quickly with Renly, though I can understand the desire for haste during times of war.”

“If that is what you desire, then that is what I will do,” he vows, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing it and slowly rising to his feet. “I shall take my leave of you now, for I must write to your father and inform him of my intent to court you, but I will return tomorrow, and every day after until you are well again?”

“And after that?” she asks him, a little hesitantly, though she’s smiling as brightly as ever. “Will you continue to come visit once I have recovered?”

“Of course,” he says, reaching out to her for a moment before pulling his hand back again. “Even the wrath of the Starks will not be enough to keep me away.”

She laughs as he walks towards the door, her eyes shining with light and life, and he briefly damns Hunt for trying to snuff out her brilliant light, for attempting to break her to suit his own purposes. But his rage passes, like a cloud over the sun, and then he’s smiling like the fool he is as he steps out into the hallway and nods at the servant hovering there, waiting to escort Brienne back to her room so she can rest.

Catelyn intercepts him in the front hall as he’s gathering his coat, glaring at him fiercely enough that he feels a tremor go down his spine—but not fiercely enough to quell his smile, or the joy bubbling up inside him and threatening to spill over onto the polished floors of her manor. “Well?” she demands, folding her arms across her chest. “Are you reassured regarding Countess Tarth’s comfort and recovery?”

“I am,” he responds, “very much so. You and your daughters have been excellent friends to her, particularly when considering the delicacy of your own situations, and I am grateful to all three of you for doing so.”

Catelyn’s posture eases ever so slightly, though her glare does not soften in the slightest. “I am glad to hear that you think so highly of our efforts. We appreciate your assistance in this manner as well. You had no obligation to aid Brienne, yet you stepped in anyways when I called upon you, and for that both Brienne and myself are very grateful.”

“I did promise Galladon I would look out for his sister should something befall him once, and it would be terribly cruel of me to abandon the woman I love when she needed my aid most.”

“The woman you love,” Catelyn repeats slowly, her brows shooting upwards. “You did not tell me _that_ the last time you came to visit.”

“I had not realized how I felt about her yet,” he admits sheepishly. “Apparently I require considerable motivation to realize my feelings, and even more motivation to actually confess them to myself.”

“Does Brienne know?” Catelyn demands, taking a rather menacing step towards him. “Have you told her this? The poor girl has been devastated by what happened. It might do her some good to know that someone loves her enough that they would drop everything to run to her side when she was in need.”

“She does know,” he says, unable to keep himself from smiling broadly, “and we have agreed to court, though she has asked me to give her time after everything that has happened. I hope you are resigned to seeing a great deal of me, Princess Catelyn, because I do not intend to continue in my foolish behaviour for any longer when it comes to Brienne.”

Unexpectedly, Catelyn smiles at him, the tension bleeding out of her as she does. “Good. I saw how you felt for her when you ran to her bedside the instant you saw her after she had been poisoned. It is a relief to hear that you will be doing something about it rather than sitting and pining from afar, as I imagine you have been for quite some time now.”

He nods, his face flushing as Catelyn smirks at him. Now that he understands his heart a little better, it’s nearly humiliating to recall how long he waited, how long he stewed over his feelings for Brienne without realizing how deeply he felt for her. But now he can rectify all his mistakes, can find the love he’s been longing for, and perhaps they can both be happy at last, once everything dies down and the baron’s actions are no longer capable of harming her.

“I will not keep you any longer,” Catelyn tells him, just as he realizes he has spent too long in his thoughts. “I am sure you have other matters to attend to, though I imagine I will see you quite soon.”

“You will,” he assures her, slinging his coat over his shoulders and stepping out the front door to see Peck hovering beside the carriage. “You will.”

As he steps out onto the drive, he feels something cold and wet settle on the back of his neck, and he looks up to see great flakes of snow drifting down from the sky, slow and soft and gentle as they settle on the ground, beginning to blanket the world in white. Winter has arrived at last, it seems, yet he feels impossibly warm, buoyed by the promise of love and a future much less bleak than any other he had imagined previously. 

How had he ever survived without this feeling? How had he endured it when he’d believed he was destined to die alone and unloved, never knowing the glorious warmth it could bring, the pure delight he still feels as he steps into the carriage?

“Prince Jaime?” Peck asks carefully, perhaps recognizing that his serene joy is not a usual mood after visiting with another noble family. “Are you alright?”

“I have never been better,” he tells his servant, who nods and steps down from the side of the carriage to move to the driver’s place. And he’s telling the truth for once, because he truly never has been better. He has not been this happy, this hopeful in years, not since the last days of his childhood when his sister still wanted to run and play with the others, not since those glorious summer days on Tarth with his friends by his side and the sun shining down on them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah they're so soft. I hate them so much. also shoutout to jaime for finally realizing he has feelings for brienne and immediately being like 'I must tell her this. she must know.' it only took 23 chapters to get here, but we made it at long last.
> 
> next time: jaime reflects.


	24. The Great Comet of 1812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _where to now?_
> 
> The carriage moves slowly enough through the streets of King’s Landing that Jaime has plenty of time to think even when considering the brief distance between his own manor and that of the Starks. Snow is beginning to stick to the streets, however, and one cannot be too careful when the snowfall has just begun and everything is still slick from melting flakes.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring reflection, hope for the future, and a comet arching across the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the final story chapter for this fic! all that's left is an epilogue, which will be out in the next couple days! I also think this is the shortest chapter of the entire fic, but the last chapter was long enough that it all balances out in the end.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy! only one more to go!

_But for me  
The comet brings no fear…_

The carriage moves slowly enough through the streets of King’s Landing that Jaime has plenty of time to think even when considering the brief distance between his own manor and that of the Starks. Snow is beginning to stick to the streets, however, and one cannot be too careful when the snowfall has just begun and everything is still slick from melting flakes.

It seems he was speaking with Brienne for longer than he initially thought, because night is beginning to fall when Peck pulls the carriage to a halt at his manor. Far above, the first stars sparkle brilliant and remote against a darkening sky, incomparable to how Brienne’s eyes had shone with tears and joy in equal measure when they’d talked together in the parlour. The city is almost beautiful at night, when the political intrigue and the petty gossip and the foolish scandals cannot be seen for the wonder of the night sky, and he briefly wonders what it would be like to experience this nighttime homecoming with Brienne at his side before scolding himself for thinking as if their courtship has already become an engagement.

_It’s hardly been an hour, you imbecile. Give this time, as she asked you to do._

Peck goes to put the carriage away and hurry into the warmth of the manor, but Jaime finds himself lingering on the drive, staring up at the night sky as snow falls around him. The world around him seems so much brighter than it did only the night before, and even the miserable thought of dealing with his sister as he inevitably will have to when she returns to his doorstep while pretending nothing has happened does not seem so terrible as it normally does.

Is this how it feels to be happy, truly happy? Is this endless delight the reason why they all seek love so desperately, the reason why half the tales are of romance and half the songs sing of love? 

Once again, he wonders how he managed to live without feeling this way, as if nothing could possible interfere with his joy because Brienne _loves him_ , and they have a promise of a future together as long as he remembers to give it time. There is so little to be joyous about in a country at war, but he has no intention of surrendering this happiness for anything less than Brienne deciding she would be happier with someone else, no matter how much that thought hurts.

But he is getting ahead of himself, as he always does. They have only just agreed to court; there is no reason for him to presume that she will move on from him eventually. His friends always did say he was too quick to presume the worst, and it is not like Brienne has given him reason to think she will briefly entertain his affections and then abandon him.

The night air is crisp and cold, biting into the fingers of his left hand until he shoves them into his pocket. In a distant corner of the sky, nearly hidden from his sight by one of the spires of the Red Keep, a strange glowing form shines, too near and large to be a star, too high and cold to be the flames of an approaching army.

The comet is still too distant to be easily noticed, which is why it has slipped past his attention until now. Many of the nobles consider it to be an omen of death and destruction, and believe the invading army will reach the capital once the comet reaches its zenith over the city, but he would prefer to think of it as a beacon of hope, a promise of new life and love.

After all, it cannot be a coincidence that he first saw it tonight, after learning of Brienne’s love for him and confessing his own love to her. He will not pretend he knows what the comet’s appearance prophesies, if it prophesies anything at all. Instead, he is choosing to think of it as a sign to put aside his worries and fears and to embrace the possibility the future now holds, to believe that he and Brienne will last, despite the war and the years they spent apart and unaware.

He thinks he rather likes this, choosing to think of the best rather than the worst as he always does. It’s oddly freeing after years of fearing to love anything due to his conviction that he would inevitably lose it.

They have a long way to go yet. The war still looms, marching closer with every passing day, and their courtship has hardly begun. It would be far too presumptive of him to assume that all is settled now, that he will not still be waking up a year, two years from now with his hand on fire and Aerys’s voice in his head. He cannot promise that Brienne will not still be haunted by the baron’s cruel words and crueler actions, that she will be able to face his sister after what went down even after years have passed. Nothing in life is so simple as that.

They will face it, however. Together, if they are lucky, and his secret hopes are not based on nothing. And he does not believe that they are.

Her eyes have been following him ever since he left the Stark manor, all glittering blue like the most polished sapphires or the ocean waves surrounding the island she calls home. Or maybe they have been dwelling on his mind for even longer, since the last time they parted before he went off to war and she met Renly. They were certainly on his mind during the early days of his recovery, though he’d done his best not to think too much on the matter back then.

It’s odd, that he’s so hopeful now despite the war encroaching on King’s Landing and the cold promise of winter nipping at his cheeks and the very real danger of the capital and so many other places being destroyed. He still fears for his friends, for Galladon and Addam and all the other soldiers on the front facing the invaders, and he worries for the innocent people that will be caught in the crossfire of the war as it slowly moves through the Riverlands towards the capital. But he has something for himself now, and he intends to hold onto that until the invaders kill him or some other fate takes him away.

How has so much changed for him in so little time? Before his duel with Loras Tyrell, he would have willingly thrown his life away on anything he thought might ease the pain of his lost hand. After the duel, he remembered caution, remembered that there were still things worth living for even if he did not know them yet. Before Baron Hunt attempted to abduct Brienne, he thought he would never find the love he hoped for. After the abduction, he realized that the love he’d been looking for was close by all along, and that he’d simply been looking in the wrong direction.

They both had.

He looks up at the sky again and studies the distant glow of the comet. It will soon draw near, will soon shine as close and as bright as a second moon above the capital. Maybe it is an omen of death and destruction, as so many believe it to be. Maybe he is correct, and it is a sign that he should be hopeful for his future, and for Brienne’s as well. Maybe they are all wrong, and the comet is nothing more than itself, signifying nothing beyond the appearance of a celestial body in the sky.

He is no astronomer. It is not his place to say. But he has hope for the first time in more than a year, and, comet or no comet, he will hold on to that until someone proves to him that he is being a fool, that the war will take him before long or that Brienne’s interest in him is as passing a fancy as her interest in Renly was.

And until that day, should it ever come, he will live, and love, and if he is lucky, he will do so with Brienne at his side, the two of them standing hand in hand and ready to face whatever terror the world might throw at them this time.


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we shall have epilogue..._
> 
> On the first anniversary of her marriage, Princess Brienne Lannister wakes and reaches across the bed to find her husband missing from his place beside her.
> 
> *
> 
> featuring an anniversary, the war's end, and plans for a future in a world at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well folks, this is it. this chapter was originally going to be the Great Comet of 1812 chapter, but it turns out a song called Epilogue that's about...seven? years after the ending of the show for a performance in February this year (which feels like it was much longer ago than it actually was, but that's beside the point). I have not actually heard the song yet, but this chapter now exists because of that song.
> 
> there are no warnings for this chapter except that it is unbearably soft and I cannot believe my angst-loving self wrote it. it is quite literally the softest thing I've written and I love it dearly. they're disgustingly in love and I hate them both so much.
> 
> thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_Two years later…_

On the first anniversary of her marriage, Princess Brienne Lannister wakes and reaches across the bed to find her husband missing from his place beside her.

She might have been worried had this happened in the first weeks of their marriage, but Jaime has been rising earlier of late due to necessity, and so his absence is not surprising. Galladon and Addam write frequently, with letters flying between the defenders of King’s Landing and the manor at Casterly Rock, her and Jaime’s haven in these last months of the war. With the arrival of another cold winter, the invading armies have been faltering more and more, and earlier in the month her brother had tentatively written that he thought the war might end soon.

 _At last_. The war has taken so much from them all. It will be a delight to see it over after all those terrible years of conflict.

But for now, she must find her husband. Wrapping herself in a long, warm dressing gown, she descends from the warmth of their shared bedroom and catches sight of Jaime sitting in his study, the door ajar. He glances up at the sound of her soft footsteps and smiles, his entire face coming alight as she slips into the room and closes the door in her wake.

“Good morning, wife,” he purrs, standing and drifting over to envelop her in his arms and kiss her, long and deep. She’s flushing as he draws back, but she does not mind, not anymore. Not when he’s looking at her in that way of his, that way where his smile is so soft, so full of affection she can hardly stand to look directly at him. “Did you sleep well?”

She smiles at him in response as he buries his face against her neck and breathes deeply. “I did, though not as well as I might have had my husband stayed in bed with me. You rose so early this morning, love. What’s going on?”

He steps back but wraps his hand tightly around her own, keeping their bodies linked as he guides her over to what’s become her chair, beside his as they sit together behind the desk. “Your brother’s latest letter arrived. I was going to read it, but then the first paragraph recommended I wait for you to be present as well, so I was just about to wake you so we could read it together.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks him, reaching out with her free hand to grasp the letter and bring it closer. “If my brother wants us both present when reading, he must be sending important news indeed.”

The last time Galladon had sent such a letter, demanding they both read it together, was a week before their wedding a year ago, apologizing for his long absence but insisting that he would be there when they married, he just had to make it there first. His abrupt disappearance shortly after she and Jaime began courting had nearly derailed all their plans, but her father had tearfully insisted that her brother would have wanted them to proceed anyways, so they had.

Despite their worry for Gal, and despite Jaime’s promise to take things slowly, their courtship had not ended up being very long. Less than six months went by before Jaime proposed to her in the gardens of the Stark manor, shortly before they all fled King’s Landing as the invaders pressed near, and, only a year after they officially began courting, they married on Tarth, with Galladon there despite all the odds being against it. 

Her brother’s marriage to Sansa had taken place not long after hers, though Gal and Sansa had come to a very different agreement than she and Jaime had. It seemed that her brother’s taste extended less to his betrothed and more to his fellow soldier Matthos Seaworth, who was slated to marry Margaery Tyrell, Sansa’s lover. The four had apparently come to some sort of mutual agreement that had them all living together on Tarth, with each of the real couples free to do as they pleased within the pretence of their marriages. Brienne still isn’t certain she understands their arrangement, but her brother and her friend are happy, and that is good enough for her.

She hasn’t properly spoken to Renly since the end of their engagement, but by all reports he’s doing quite well for himself, having married some Tyrell cousin and invited Loras to live with him and his new bride in Storm’s End. That particular arrangement was an open secret among the nobles of Westeros, but Renly had a proper marriage to hide it with, so no one ever remarked on it anymore.

Arya had gone to Storm’s End as well, having struck up an unlikely friendship with Loras Tyrell, of all people. There, she’d met a young blacksmith widely rumoured to be among Robert Baratheon’s many bastards, and their marriage was due to take place next spring, hopefully after the war was over. Catelyn had been scandalized at first, but with Sansa’s marriage to Gal working out perfectly in the end, there’d been no reason to deny Arya her happiness in favour of a wealthy match.

Robert had, unfortunately, succumbed to his many injuries shortly after everything had happened two years before. Not long after that, his widow and his younger brother Stannis had married, leading many to wonder which one of the new couple had killed Robert so they could be together at last. The truth that Brienne knew thanks to Jaime was that they both had, but not for the sake of a match between them. Their marriage was mainly a cover for Cersei to carry on with whoever her current paramour might be, while Stannis carried out his own affair with the housekeeper, Davos. Brienne does not understand that arrangement either, but Jaime no longer speaks to his sister after Cersei’s attempt to poison Brienne, so it matters little to either of them.

She’d never heard what happened to Baron Hunt after Jaime ordered him off to Highgarden, and she had no desire to hear the answer, either. She suspects that Jaime knows his fate, but they rarely discuss the baron’s actions, even if his behaviour had been what brought them together at last.

Baron Hunt and his cruelties are long gone, anyways. Now, she sits with her husband in his study, and they read her brother’s letter side by side, hands joined and bodies pressed together. She’s never been this happy before, and yet it seems she has yet to find a limit on happiness because every day they’re together makes her joy grow and swell in her heart until she feels like she may be floating on top of it.

And it seems there’s even more to be happy about, as she reads her brother’s words detailing the end of the war and the first stages of rebuilding King’s Landing. Even on paper, his joy and relief spills over and adds to the glowing warmth within, each one of his words confirming that yes, the war has ended, they’re finally at peace, and that she and Jaime can return to King’s landing without fearing for the life they’ve been building together over the course of their first year of marriage.

_I suppose I must congratulate you, dear sister, on making it an entire year without attempting to kill your husband at least once. Jaime can be infuriating at the best of times, and only the gods know how you manage to put up with him constantly. Jaime, if you are reading this, I must caution you about the life you have chosen with my sister, for she can be stubborn as a mule if need be, and I have lived with her long enough to know she can be equally infuriating when she wants to be. In all sincerity, though, I am happy for you two. I know how much you both have struggled, and it brings me great joy to hear that my sister and my dear friend have found such happiness in each other even in such a dark time._

“Damn your brother,” Jaime whispers as they finish the letter and turn towards each other, but he’s smiling so broadly that she doesn’t believe him for an instant. “Still, it is good to hear from him, and even better to hear that the war is over at long last. It will make it much easier for us to journey to Tarth, as I know you have longed to for some time now.”

They’ve been married for a year and courted for another year before that, yet Jaime still manages to surprise her every now and then with how well he _knows_ her. She’s never mentioned her desire to visit Tarth, knowing it’s an impossible dream with the war and their duties at the Rock, and yet somehow he knows her mind despite her keeping that wish to herself.

“Jaime,” she breathes, reaching out to cup her husband’s face with her free hand after setting the letter aside. “Jaime, how did you know?”

“I know you, love,” he tells her, and he’s smiling like _that_ again, and she thinks she has never been this happy before, even back when she thought herself in love with Renly. “You don’t need to tell me these things.”

This, _this_ is why Jaime is a better match for her than either Renly or the baron ever would have been. They would never have bothered to learn her so well that they could predict her desires without her ever speaking aloud. They would never know her to such a degree that they could anticipate her response to such news like her husband did. They would never smile at her in _that_ way, so soft and tender and loving that she could never doubt how deeply he feels for her.

Gods, she loves this man more every day. Just when she thinks she’s reached the limits of her love for him, he does something like this and she discovers that it is possible to love someone more than she could ever understand. On days like this one, two years to the day since he knelt before her in Catelyn’s parlour and begged her permission to court her after what Baron Hunt did, she likes to consider how much dimmer and sadder her life would have been had she married Renly or run off with the baron. Having this life now has her questioning why she ever thought she should settle for the first man willing to have her, why she had rushed into her first engagement to evade her fear that Jaime might never return her affection for him.

“We should celebrate,” she says abruptly, rising to her feet while her husband watches with a gentle smile. “If the war is truly over, then we must tell the servants and our guests, and it would be wonderful to have some sort of celebration to honour the war’s end.” 

The war has prevented her from taking on any duties as a hostess as she would have in ordinary times, but a full year of marriage has made her much more certain of her abilities to do so, and she knows Jaime will help her, as he always does. Besides, the Rock can grow dreary in winter, and it will be lovely to have some life back in it for a little while. The wounded soldiers they’ve been taking in and tending to will appreciate a bit of hope and colour as well, she imagines.

As always, Jaime seems to know what she’s thinking, because he rises to his feet as well and catches hold of her hand once again. “You are correct, but any preparations you want to make can wait, can they not? The war is over. Our friends and your brother are safe. We can take a moment for ourselves, can we not?”

“We can,” she agrees, and she turns to him just as he rises up to press a kiss to her lips, as soft and gentle as the first one he gave her when they were still courting. “We certainly can, my love.”

He always ducks his head whenever she reminds him of her love for him, and this occasion is no exception to the rule. She wants to tease him about his bashfulness, and does so often, but this does not feel like the right time, so she stays silent and rests her head against his shoulder when he pulls her close.

For a long moment, they stand together in the study, neither one saying a word as the sun slowly rises over Casterly Rock and bathes the ocean below in red and gold. The morning is calm and clear, a perfect day for a war to end and for peace to settle in at last.

“Did you ever think we would have this?” Jaime asks her suddenly, and she pulls away to look at his thoughtful expression. “When we were young and playing together on Tarth. Did you ever think we would end up here, married and happy?”

“No,” she murmurs, returning her head to his shoulder. “We were too young to be spending much time thinking of marriage. And besides, you were Galladon’s annoying friend who liked to bother me far too much. I never would have married you then, nor would I have believed someone who told me we would be wed, at some time in the distant future.”

“I was not _annoying_ ,” Jaime splutters, looking affronted, and she laughs at his offended expression as he pulls away from her and flounces back to his desk. “How dare you slander me so, love. I thought my wife was supposed to be on my side.”

She grins at him, at the youthful mirth that fills his eyes as he reaches out for her, beckoning her closer. “No, I am supposed to ensure my husband’s ego does not grow too over-inflated. It was my brother’s assignment to me on our wedding day, and clearly he was correct to give it to me.”

He wrinkles his nose in mock disdain, and she laughs again, letting him catch her hands and pull her down to sit beside him once more. “And here I thought I _liked_ my goodbrother.”

They smile at each other again, and her heart swells with joy once more. Nothing can be better than this, laughing with her husband as the sun rises, with her brother’s letter telling them of the war’s end lying atop the desk beside them. They have found such happiness in each other, something neither of them had hoped for before that fateful day in Catelyn’s parlour when he’d come to see her after her poisoning and had left her more hopeful than she’d ever thought she could be again.

It is not always easy, just as he warned her when he made his plea. There are days when his missing hand aches and the memories of the war are sharp and painful, days when he pushes her away for fear of her seeing him weak and thinking him lesser. There are days when she refuses to accept his love, remembering the baron’s cruel words and Renly walking away from her far too clearly. But they have overcome all this, and they will do the same should any such days occur in the future. 

And it has grown easier for them to accept the other’s aid. Only on the worst days, when he cannot leave their bed for the pain in his arm, does Jaime push her away anymore, and even then he is much less cruel about it than he once was. She is learning to pause and think before assuming the worst of him on the days when her doubts are strong, and together they are making things work. 

Their first year of marriage has been busier than they would have liked, what with the war and their conversion of the lower floors of the Rock into a hospital for wounded soldiers needing to recover well away from the front. But Jaime arranged early on in their marriage for them to make a little time for themselves and each other every day, and she can hardly wait for the day the soldiers leave and their time is their own once more.

“I love you,” Jaime murmurs into her hair after several minutes of silence go by. “And I look forward to spending the rest of my years by your side, until the Stranger comes for us at last.”

Brienne finds herself smiling again—she never smiled this much before Jaime, not as far as she can remember. “As do I, love,” she whispers, reaching for the stump of his right arm and cradling it in her palm while twining their other hands together in the space between their bodies. “As do I.”

They sit together in the study, their hands joined and their bodies pressed up against each other, and watch in silent awe as the sun makes its way through the sky and settles above them, bathing the newly-peaceful world in brilliant golden light.

_We shall have epilogue  
After epilogue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it feels a bit surreal to be done with this one, my first longfic ever. I've had it fully written for more than a month now, so it's not a painful feeling to be done posting at last, but it's still odd. this fic is quite literally the reason I started writing for this pairing, though finishing it doesn't mean I'm going to be escaping anytime soon. I've been trapped, like so many of the rest of us.
> 
> thank you to everyone who read this one and tolerated the fact that the leads literally don't meet until three chapters from the end! I'm glad you came on this journey with me, and I wish you luck with all the craziness this year has brought. you've all been amazing, and I really appreciate that you took some time to read this story. I promise the next one won't take nearly as long to get jaime and brienne into the same room.

**Author's Note:**

> character roles for anyone who's curious:  
> Natasha: Brienne, a countess betrothed to Renly, young  
> Pierre: Jaime, a prince trying to get his shit together after losing his hand in the war, what about him?  
> Anatole: Hyle, a baron with a plan (what is it? wait and see), hot (not actually I did tell you I was doing Anatole dirty in this fic)  
> Sonya: Sansa and Arya, two princesses, good. Sansa's betrothed to Brienne's brother Galladon  
> Marya: Catelyn, a princess, Sansa and Arya's mother, old-school  
> Hélène: Cersei, a princess married to Robert, jaime's sister, not-actually-a-slut-this-is-why-i-have-issues-with-this-character-okay  
> Dolokhov: Loras, a count, soldier, and sharpshooter, fierce  
> Andrey: Renly, a prince fighting in the war, isn't here  
> Mary: Stannis, a prince stuck taking care of his injured brother, plain  
> Old Prince Bolkonsky: Robert, an injured prince, crazy  
> Balaga: Duram Waters, an original character, Hyle's driver, just for fun


End file.
